


New Equipment

by CerysKitty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Sex Toys, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:25:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CerysKitty/pseuds/CerysKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tailgate was repaired he received some new upgrades, which he desperately needs help with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from Tumblr :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of 02/14 I've edited this. It's essentially exactly the same, but 100% less typos and some sentences sound nicer~

Swerve’s Bar was noisy and crowded, which suited Tailgate just fine given the information he was about to unleash on his friend, so yes, the noisier the better, because the less mechs who heard or were too drunk to remember this, the less likely he was to die from embarrassment later. He'd tried to get Swerve alone, but that was easier said than done with him running the bar at seemingly all moors of the day, and in the end his problem had reached the stage where he was almost ready to to shout it out over the broadcast system if it at least meant he'd get an answer.

“Hey, Swerve? Could I uh, speak to you a sec? _Quietly_?” Tailgate was sat, leaning over the bar and trying to keep his voice as low as possible.

“Huh, yeah sure! I mean, _sure_.” Swerve brought his helm down closer to Tailgate's. “What’s up then that you need good ol'Swerve to help you out with?” If this was Swerve's 'quiet voice', thought Tailgate, then the entire bar was going to know about his problem in barely a few kliks.

“I uh… So you know when I first came uh, well was first dragged onto the ship? And then Ratchet fixed me up and then you, well yeah. Anyway I think… Ratchet kind of maybe fixed me… Wrong?” Tailgate ducked his head to hide his face in embarrassment, though over what Swerve probably couldn’t even begin to guess at.

“ _Ratchet_ fix something _wrong_? Are you sure, because that doesn’t-wait, hey why aren't you talking to him about this?” A little incredulous, Swerve tried to pull away, but Tailgate yanked him back down by his hood.

“It's not so much _wrong_ per se but he uh, fixed me a little _too_ good? And I kind of ran out on him and promised him I'd sort it out myself and there’s no way in the pit I’m going back there! He's scary when he's got that look in his optic…” Tailgate seemed to withdraw into himself and shudder, while Swerve only seemed to get even more confused.

“Tailgate, what _exactly_ is wrong? Spell it out for me here.”  Swerve tried to move the conversation along. As much as he loved idle chatter he had drinks to serve, and gossip to share, and Skids was looking like he was going to do something totally _amazing_ with that grappling hook in a minute.

“Um…” Tailgate's voice dropped to barely a whisper, and Swerve had to edge even closer and strain to hear over the loud room. “He installed this interfacing array thing? And it keeps acting up and leaking and sending me weird data and- and oh primus help! We only used to have sparks and cables and this is really, _really_ weird!” Halfway though his rambling Tailgate had started to flounder and rush his speech, as well as slump and hide his head under his arms. “I mean what do I even do with it?”

“Do with what?” Primus but Tailgate was already stressed, and Whirl's voice inches from his helm was definitely unappreciated at a time like this. He instantly sat up and shot a 'look' at Swerve before he turned around to face the mech standing really kind of too close behind him.

“It’s uh, nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just uh, minibot stuff yeah?” He tried to subtlety look around for help, but Whirl made a point of turning to face the direction he was looking.

“Who’re you looking for? Hmm?” He turned back to face the two minib- no make that one minibot, as Swerve had taken his chance to run away to 'serve drinks' the second Whirl's back was turned. “So I think I overheard you have a problem huh? One you need some help with and well it just so happens that not only am I the deadliest mech on this ship, but I'm also a fragging fantastic frag teacher so what do you say we take a trip back to my quarters hm? I've got them to myself now that uh, whatshisname got himself eaten by that Sparkeater.”

Tailgate was struggling to believe this was actually happening. Whirl, of all mechs _Whirl_ was trying to take him back to his quarters for a frag. _Whirl_. What in primus' name had he done to deserve this.

“I don't… Think that would be a uh… No I don't think that'd be a good idea.” Tailgate found himself at a loss for words, mostly out of a sheer disbelief, but also a healthy sense of self-preservation was stopping him from telling Whirl to go jump out the airlock. “I have uh… A thing to do… Over there.” He pointed over Whirl's shoulder and tried to slip the opposite way around him, but was unexpectedly pinned in by claws on either side of his shoulders.

“Hey where you going? You know, I never thought I'd be agreeing with Cyclonus over anything but he's right, you're a terrible liar. Come on~ it'll be fun!” Whirl tugged Tailgate out of his seat and started to drag him to the door. Struck frozen with shock, it took Tailgate a moment to react and begin to pull and scrabble back, but he didn't exactly have much advantage over the tall ex-Wrecker.

“N-no I really don't think-“ He looked over to try and shout for help from one of the others in the room, but all he could see was the backs of mechs as they stood up and shouted and roared at something on the table in front of them.

Whirl turned back to tug Tailgate along faster. “Why not it'll be great! I bet you have a really cute mouth too behind that mask and we can try all sorts of pos-“

A cold voice cut him off.

“If you don't release him in the next nanoklik, I'm going to put your pathetic excuse for a head through the wall.” Whirl came to such an abrupt stop that Tailgate almost fell over. Unfortunately however, he still didn't let him go, but it was fine now, he had a new way out.

“Cyclonus! Help!”

“Cyclonus, _frag off_!”

Tailgate had never been happier to see that dour looking face, though when he glanced at Whirl he could swear, despite everything pointing to it being physically impossible, that the mech was smirking? If this had all been a ploy to goad Cyclonus on he-

It turned out he didn’t have time to continue his train of thought, because the next instant Cyclonus had torn the claws from their hold on him, and shoved Whirl back into the centre of the room.

Just in time for Skid's grappling hook to plough into his face.

There was an abrupt silence, before mechs started to clamber to get a better view of the unconscious mech sprawled across the floor. Tailgate heard a drunken 'oops' hiccuped from Skids before he was being pulled yet again out the room, this time stumbling after an angry Cyclonus. He was flustered and confused enough that he didn't even protest being half-dragged all the way back to their shared quarters though once in with the door locked, Cyclonus finally released his wrist and turned to speak to him. Though he still looked pretty annoyed, his voice was calm at least.

“What was that about?” No nonsense and straight to the point. Tailgate had no idea how he was going to get himself out of this one.

“It uh…” He moved to go sit on the chair to buy time. “It was just Whirl being an aft, you know how he is.” He rung his servos and glanced off to the side, but rapidly pulled his attention back to Cyclonus when he moved to stand in front of him. The arguer mech stared at him in silence for a moment, perhaps deciding what to do with Tailgate, or maybe to just try and frighten him into giving up the story, who knew.

“Tailgate, you’re an appalling lier. Now, what happened?” His face was stern, though when did that ever change, but it was the tone of voice telling Tailgate to 'own up or you will die' which made him mumble out his next words.

“I… Uh, was talking to Swerve and... Well, Ratchet installed…” He made the mistake of looking up into Cyclonus's hard stare, and the rest of the words came out in a rush. “Ratchet installed this new interfacing stuff and I have no idea what do do with it and I think it's installed wrong or something and Whirl said he wanted to help out but I really _really_ didn't want him to and-” 

“That’s enough.” Cyclonus looked at him thoughtfully, and folded his arms before he spoke. “When you say ‘interfacing stuff', do you mean the spike and valve mods?” At Tailgate’s shrug he just continued. “They became popular a while after you got yourself lost in that hole. These days everyone's brought online with them and I doubt it's an installation problem if Ratchet did the job. Have you even had a look at them yet?”

“I uh…” Cyclonus's stare prompted express honesty. “No. No I mean, it leaks sometimes and I don't even know what you're supposed to do with it…” He trailed off in a small voice, determined to not look away from a very specific part of the floor tiling beneath Cyclonus's pedes.

“You really are an idiot sometimes. Do you want me to teach you?”

That shifted his focus away from the floor so fast that Tailgate could've sworn he’d heard something in his neck snap. He opened and closed his mouth, not that Cyclonus could see, searching for words. Any words.

“That… I mean… What?” Cyclonus moved to put a servo on his shoulder while Tailgate floundered.

“Yes or no, it's a simple enough question.” 

How in the pit was that a simple question? Let Cyclonus teach him how to 'face with his new parts? Cyclonus who might toss him through the window if he cycled air the wrong way. Cyclonus who had admittedly just saved him from Whirl, and who was the only mech he even knew of from his life before, and who he might’ve, maybe _sometimes_ thought about while touching his spark a little in the dead of the night.

Frag.

“Um… Yes? I mean if you don't mind of course!” He flinched when Cyclonus stepped away, only to relax when he realised he was just going towards the window. Flicking a switch, the glass darkened and became mirrored, reflecting the entire room. Cyclonus sat on the berth facing the new mirror, then turned to look over at Tailgate.

“Well are you coming?”

Tailgate automatically jumped from the chair and made his way over to him before he even realised what he was doing.

“But… What's with the mirror?” He hesitated to ask, but still pulled himself up to sit next to Cyclonus, less he run out of patience and leave him to start back at square one with sorting this mess out.

“How else do you expect to learn if you can't see what we're doing.” Before Tailgate could get comfortable where he sat, Cyclonus lifted and pulled him to sit across his lap, back flush to the other’s broad chest. His little legs ended up stretched wide over the larger mech's thighs, and as he stared in shock at the mirror he realised he could see his entire pelvic array. Before this trip, that area held some fairly nice places to get a charge up, but it was was mostly redundant, and so primus only knew what Cyclonus was about to show him.

“For your first time, you should bring your charge up and wait for your panels to open of their own accord. Show me where you like to touch yourself when you self-overload.” Tailgate watched Cyclonus's mouth move in the mirror but he swore he could only hear static. Something about touching himself. Yeah, alright. Because that wasn't needlessly embarrassing.

“I uh… I don't um. Maybe hips? That usually feels go-OOD! Oh _primus_!.’ He squealed and fought not to wriggle when Cyclonus’s sharp claws instantly found their way into the wide gaps of his stretched out hips, instead fluttering his servos about before he managed to bring them up to his face mask in an effort to stop any more embarrassing noises. Sure he’d played with himself before, but his digits were nowhere near as long nor as sharp as Cyclonus's and primus could those claws delve  deep, and touch wires and nodes he never even knew he had.

There was no way he should be getting this revved up so quickly just from some wires being tweaked, and apparently Cyclonus thought so too.

“When was the last time you or another mech brought you to overload?” Cyclonus continued to stare at him via the mirror, holding optic contact as he lazily shifted his claws and flicked a particularly sensitive spot which had Tailgate almost seeing static.

“I u-UH- that's not really any of you-uR OKAY! Okay… G-geez… Um m-maybe a couple of nights a-oh frag!”

“How?” Tailgate whined and wriggled in his lap at the awkward questions, though Cyclonus never stopped dipping his claws into his hips and the surrounding seams, stroking the outer plating of Tailgate’s thighs with his thumbs as he worked.

“What I don- nng! I touched my spark a b-bit, and uh maybe some t-RA, some transformation seams?” He couldn’t stop himself from moving, twitching into the touches, though despite all his writhing, he still managed to keep his optics locked on Cyclonus's. He could swear he was mostly getting revved up because of that deep, unrelenting stare.

Completely to Tailgate's shock, after hearing his admission Cyclonus actually smiled. Well, smirked. Kind of.

“Two nights ago? Yes, I remember the light from your spark interrupted my recharge cycle, much as you tried to hide it.” He leaned down a little closer to Tailgate's audial, and he'd never seen a simple smirk look so dangerous. “If I remember correctly, I distinctly heard you muttering my name as you overloaded.”

Oh. Oh _frag_.

Tailgate was suddenly completely still, spark fluctuating in his chest and if he was lucky it was about to gutter and flicker out because seriously this could not be happening.

“…I- I… Maybe you misHEARRRD!” 

“I highly doubt it.” That was punctuated with a particularly harsh tweak of some major fuel lines, and Tailgate’s servos scrabbled in thin air once more. “But, if you hold a sexual attraction towards me this will be much easier.” Another fuel line and the minibot could only produce static. “And it would explain why you're getting charged up so quickly.”

Tailgate writhed in a mixture of intense arousal and humiliation, finally breaking his gaze with Cyclonus to hide his head in his servos. There was nothing he could say that wouldn't just get him deeper into this hole, and he whined into his palms. They sat like that for a few kliks, Cyclonus's touches paused for the moment, and then he was vaguely aware of a servo leaving his hip, before one of his own servos was being pulled from his face.

“You have nothing to feel ashamed about. If anything I am flattered.” Cyclonus gently pulled Tailgate’s servo to rest in front of his own white chestplates. “We should proceed. Show me how you prefer to touch yourself.” The claws in Tailgate’s hip started moving again, becoming a little rougher in their fondling, and the charge Tailgate had forgotten about with his shameful misery revved right back up with a choked off moan.

He was hesitant, but slowly started to trace the seams on his chestplates, gingerly dipping into gaps; it was nice although he could barely feel it, the servo at his hip taking up his full concentration. His other servo had dropped from his face and he let it hover over his leg for a moment before he started to gently rub his thigh, carefully avoiding the larger servo already on it. To be honest, he wasn't sure he could show Cyclonus what he preferred, seeing as his preference was quickly becoming those claws scratching deep at his protoform.

As soon as he'd started to actually touch himself, the servo which had moved Tailgate's hand was brought to the back of Tailgate’s upper arm, scratching lightly at the plating along the way. He was wondering what Cyclonus was going to do when claws swiftly delved into the rims of his wheels, digging deep and expertly finding sensors and sensitive lines he'd never even knew existed. The strangled yelp the touch pulled from him only seemed to encourage Cyclonus, and his other hand moved from Tailgate's hip to play with his other shoulder joint, leaving Tailgate to manipulate his hip himself.

Tailgate's own servos slowed considerably as he focussed his attention on Cyclonus's ones, those claws digging deep into places no one had ever touched. He was dimly aware that he was moaning and pushing into the pressure of the rough touch, but it felt so good he couldn't bring himself to feel embarrassed. He wasn't aware Cyclonus had spoken until there was a sharp pinch to grab his attention and his eyes shot to the other mech's in the mirror.

“I... huh?”

“I asked if your visor and facemask were retractable.” At Tailgate's shaky nod Cyclonus moved one hand down to scratch at the little mech's lower back. “Then remove them. Emotive as you already are, I wish to see your full expressions.” There was a moment's hesitation before Tailgate reached up to manually unhook both mask and visor. He reset his optics a couple of times to get used to the sensation, and then brought himself to meet Cyclonus’s own optics though he looked away again instantly. Without the comfort of his masks, Tailgate shrank into himself, servos making a move to cover his face again. However, before they even got past his chest, Cyclonus had caught both his wrists in one servo and he held them there in front of his chest making no move to let go this time.

“Don’t.” Claws tipped Tailgate's chin up to watch again, and Cyclonus rested his own helm down near his audials. “Just watch. And feel. Let your body respond as it wishes to.” Those claws scrapped down his neck cables, brushed over his arm and ghosted over his hips again. They danced there a fraction, before skittering over to his pelvic plating, where Cyclonus rubbed his palm over the main paneling, letting his claw tips flit at the edges. Then he rubbed lower, pressing firmly before rubbing back up. 

In Tailgate's experience such actions would feel good and pleasantly add to any charge he had going, not cause him to jolt and let lose an embarrassing squeak because of the pure pleasure shooting up his back struts. All of a sudden his plating felt too tight, which was a ridiculous thought, and the plating under Cyclonus's palm burned enough that he thought he might combust. The only feeling he could compare it to was when he touched his spark, but the burning was just so different it was impossible to predict what was happening.

His squeaks turned into breathy moans, his now visible mouth falling slack at the throbbing pleasure between his legs. He could feel his new parts leaking again, and was about to ask Cyclonus if it was normal, until the larger mech ground his palm down harshly and suddenly his world flipped.

In response to his high charge and that final push from Cyclonus's servo, his panels snapped open and folded back out of the way, and with the help of the mirror he got his first glimpse at his new equipment. 

Not that the glimpse made much sense of what he was looking at.

Anticipating his confusion, and still holding his wrists for some reason, Cyclonus moved his claws to trace an outline of the top part, sending shivers of pleasure throughout his body.

“This.” He traced around again, slightly harder. “Is your spike. Let it extend of it's own accord for now. I will show you where the manual commands are later.” Through his fritzing vision, Tailgate could see Cyclonus practically drinking in the expressions running across his face; whilst he was beginning to stroke the tip of his new 'spike', those deep optics never left his face for an nanoklik. Tailgate stared back for a moment, though his attention quickly fell to watching those sharp claw tips ghost around the head of his spike, and flick slightly at the, was it a slit? Whatever it was it felt amazing and he started to wriggle again in an attempt to get Cyclonus to touch a little harder.

The larger mech hummed to himself a little, before increasing the touches and pressure on the spike, and it didn't take long for it to start to slowly extend, though Cyclonus murmured that was normal for the first time. Tailgate couldn't stop watching, having never seen anything like it before, as his spike emerged from his body. He had nothing to compare it to, but it was blue and white and he found himself wondering if they were all like that, or if Ratchet had matched it up to his paintjob.

“I... Uh...” He struggled to get words out, what with those pin-pricks of pleasure dancing up and down his spike.

“Do you wish to see mine, as a comparison?” Right now he wanted nothing more, though was his face really that readable that Cyclonus could practically read his mind?

“…Uh, if you waNT!” A sharp motion indicated Cyclonus wanted a proper answer. “Yes! Yes I mean yes!” He wasn't sure if that signal was pain or pleasure from the scratch to the base of his spike, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Cyclonus adjusted him on his lap, finally letting go of his wrists to sit him sideways, aft perched on one solid thigh while a large arm came round his lower back to help keep him upright, the servo resting on his hip again. The next thing Tailgate knew, there was a soft snick and Cyclonus's panel folded away, and a large purple and grey spike rose smoothly in front of him. Primus but he didn't need to know much about spikes to know it was big, and really quite intimidating. He looked back to his own spike, which he realised was pretty short, though perhaps wider than expected? He realised it probably suited his frame, just like Cyclonus’s _weapon_ , and that was the only term which sprang to mind, of a spike suited him.

“The spikes goes into the valve, and with enough friction both mechs can be brought to overload, though many prefer to overload with the spike, as they feel it is easier to stimulate.”

“I uh… Wow. Wait _inside_?' He must mean that hole he'd glimpsed earlier, where the wet feeling was coming from. Oh primus. “Would that even fit? I mean in a mech uh, my size?” He ducked his head again, not wanting to see whatever look graced Cyclonus's face at what must have surely been a stupid question.

“Not straight away, and if you were interested in interfacing this way I would need to stretch you, perhaps over the course of several days until you were comfortable.” How Cyclonus said that without even was waiver Tailgate didn't know, all he could do was stare, slack-jawed up at him in disbelief.

“Would you, be interested? In um, future i-interfacing?” He was kind of hopeful; already this had been the best interface of his life and he hadn't even overloaded yet, not to mention the rather massive crush he kind of maybe had on his roommate.

“Perhaps.” That tone offered no clue as to Cyclonus’s thoughts, but then that was the least of Tailgate's worries when he was again pulled to spread across the other's thighs, the thick, hard spike pressed into his back. When he looked up into the mirror he noticed with dread that the leaking he'd worried so much about earlier was definitely coming from that hole below his spike, and was getting so bad it was starting to drip to the berth between their legs.

He must've looked worried, because next thing Cyclonus was stroking his abdomen, and reaching his other servo back towards his new array. A single claw tip slid through the leaking mess, and then ran in a light cycle around the hole. Primus that felt nice, but didn't seem to help the throbbing ache which had settled inside him.

“This, is your valve. The lining is sensitive though durable, and this,” he held up two digits smeared with a thick, pinkish liquid. “Is lubricant; it eases the way for the spike, and can also act as a conductor for a particularly heavy charge.” Tailgate had heard gossip about getting revved up to the point where overload was powerful enough for tiny amounts of discharged electric to run across your frame. he’d never experience it himself, though maybe it was more common now if this lubricant stuff helped. 

“Whilst the lining is durable, it can also tear fairly easily if you are not properly prepared, of if your partner is careless.”

Cyclonus brought both of his servos to Tailgate's thighs, and made eye contact in the mirror.

“I am going to help overload you, first using your spike, and then your valve. I've heard it described as a rising wave, or a tightening band. Eventually it will feel like that wave is going to crash, or the band will snap. Let it.” One servo grabbed Tailgate's own, and moved it to hover near his spike. “Do you have any questions?”

At Tailgate's frantic 'no', Cyclonus instructed the minibot to wrap his small digits around his spike, covering the small servo with his own and easily encompassing it, while he rested the thumb-digit over the slit in the head of the spike. Giving a light squeeze, Tailgate jolted enough that he nearly fell off Cyclonus's lap, were it not for a large purple arm which wrapped itself securely around his waist.

Cyclonus moved his servo, thus also the one under it, in a soft upward stroke which had Tailgate shaking. A downwards stroke and he moaned and shut off his optics automatically, until a strong voice in his audial told him to 'turn them back on and watch'. He had no idea what to do with his other servo which was fluttering in front of his chest, but Cyclonus solved that by reaching up with the arm around his waist, and grabbing his wrist, moving to lace their digits together before holding him again.

His spike felt weird in his palm, unbelievably hot and the sensory input he was receiving from it was phenomenal. His digits could feel each individual ridge along it's length, and the spike was sending information about the roughness and heat of  his palm, all interpreted as pleasure, especially the sharp pressure of Cyclonus’s claw tip brushing the head on every stroke. Occasionally, Cyclonus would make him squeeze, and he'd grunt or wriggle in pleasure, mouth wide open and panting in an attempt to get some cool air into his rapidly overheating frame.

Though his optics were dim, he never stopped watching his servo work himself over, aided by the mech behind him, who he was aware was still staring at his face. Like Cyclonus had said, he could feel the pleasure ramping up and up, and it wasn't long before he was squirming and moaning unsure of what was coming, but knowing he wanted it.

“Cy-Cyclonus I thiNK I thi-it's gonna happeN but I-“

“Shh, just let it happen.” Cyclonus’s grip became harder, and the movements of his servo quicker, until Tailgate found himself bucking his hips up in time with the strokes. It was a harsh scrape of the claw on the spike's head which finally caused the rising pressure to collapse and wash over him.

The overload caught him completely unaware, his frame suddenly tightening and twitching in pleasure, and he stared with over-bright optics as his spike jerked a silvery substance from slit, coating both their hands and part of his abdominal plates. Cyclonus moved his limp servo for him through the overload, dragging it out until he stopped shaking and slumped back exhausted; he could feel Cyclonus’s own spike jutting and digging against his back again, but he ignored it to focus on the blissful lethargy radiating through his frame.

“That was, I mean that felt amazing I just… wow.” Cyclonus released his grip, and Tailgate let his own servo flop weakly to the side to rest on his thigh. He wasn't aware he'd shuttered his optics until they flew open when a lazy claw started to circle his valve again.

“Don’t recharge just yet.” And then before Tailgate could ask, Cyclonus preempted him. “This substance is transfluid, and also acts as a conductor, which along with the lubricant can result in some particularly good overloads if it's timed right.”

“But, surely there's got to be a… cleaner way?” Cyclonus just huffed a short sound of amusement at that.

“The mods were based off an organic life form, within which they were used primarily as a reproduction technique.” The circling around his valve got firmer, and a claw tip dipped past the rim, causing a shaky moan. “When they were first developed for Cybertronians, there was a lot of controversy and sneering, but eventually it gave way when mechs realised how good they could feel.” He emphasised the words by inserting the tips of two digits to rub along the inside rim. “It’s possible to turn the fluids off, though a synthetic lubricant would still need to be used regardless, so there’s little point.” Cyclonus adjusted Tailgate slightly on his lap, and brought that small hand back down to his array, where he prompted Tailgate to start touching himself again.

“Like this.” He rubbed and teased, pulling at the rim slightly. “Just do what feels good.”

Tailgate started to copy Cyclonus's movements, rubbing at inner nodes just inside, and tracing the rim. The charge he'd thought had discharged with his last overload was creeping back up, and he again found himself moving his hips slightly in time to his touch.

“Good, now try deeper.” Cyclonus inserted one digit fully, before slowly dragging it back out again, watching Tailgate copy his own movements, though the short digits couldn't reach anywhere near as deep.

“I-It feels better when you do it ,I d-don't think my digits are long enough…” Tailgate whined in frustration that he couldn't reach the nodes he'd briefly experienced Cyclonus touch, and futilely tried to push his digits in a little further.

“Do you want me to do this for you?” Tailgate shifted his optics from his messy array, to look Cyclonus in the optic again, nodding and glancing away after a moments hesitation. Cyclonus merely hummed to himself, and pushed Tailgate's servo away, before increasing the pressure of his touches.

Without thinking, Tailgate brought his servo up to stifle his moans, unaware that it was covered in sticky fluids until he smeared them over his mouth. He nearly jolted his servo back, until he noticed that Cyclonus’s touch had slowed considerably, and then he saw him in the mirror, burning optics watching that messy servo as it left his mouth.

“I-uh” He had no idea what to say, completely floored by the fierce lust directed in that gaze. Was it the stuff on his hand? Hesitantly, he brought his hand back to his mouth, entranced when Cyclonus's optics seem to darken further, and his engine let out a low growl. Was this normal? He wasn't sure he could care, if it got Cyclonus to look at him like that.

Before he could stop himself, he flicked out his glossa to lick up some of the mixed fluids from his fingers, surprised at the not-unpleasant taste, and was pleased when he felt and heard an even stronger rumble from the chassis behind him. Daringly, he took one of his digits into his mouth to suck at, hoping for an even stronger reaction. He wasn't disappointed. With a deep moan, Cyclonus pulled Tailgate tighter to him, and sank two digits deep within his valve, striking new and undiscovered sensor nodes as he slowly dragged them out, before rapidly thrusting them in again.

Tailgate moaned loudly around his own digit, and began to thrust his hips again in earnest, gaze torn between watching those long digits spread him, or watching those optics burn through him. In the end his head fell back onto Cyclonus’s shoulder with a weak, shuddering moan, unable to even focus enough to suck his own digits as he felt the familiar waves building up and up. Cyclonus began to crook his fingers on the outward pull, digging in and dragging over deep sensor nodes repeatedly, working up his charge to almost breaking point. 

Tailgate was shuddering, almost on the verge when a deep, static-laced voice murmured in his audial.

“You look good like this, and I think it's about time you came.” The words struck at the same time as a particularly deep thrust, palm grinding on outer sensors whilst claws reached his ceiling node, the charge breaking and washing over him, and he even swore he glimpsed a couple of tiny static bolts crackling over his array. Tailgate screamed his overload, one servo coming up to clutch at Cyclonus’s arm, the other squeezing tightly at the servo it was still entwined with. As with his spike overload, Cyclonus continued to tease at his valve, dragging out the pleasure and spasms until he was once again lying limp in the other's lap, ex-venting hard while he struggled to reboot his optics.

He tried to speak, but all his vocaliser could burst out was a jumble of static, so he lay spread in a delirious silence until Cyclonus started to shift him. Moaning, he gingerly drew his legs from their spread position over Cyclonus's thighs, wincing when he realised he'd been sat in that position for far too long and his joints had almost seized. Slowly he clambered to slump next to the larger mech, and whilst doing so he noticed that the other’s huge spike was still fully erect and jutting into the air.

“Um, do…” He wanted to repay the surly mech, and kind of felt that it would be polite to do so, for not only showing him his new array but making it beyond enjoyable, and surely it wouldn't hurt to practice some more. “Do you want me to, uh sort that out… for you?” He could barely look at Cyclonus as he said it, afraid of the rebuttal and still a little out of sorts from the two overloads he’d experienced.

“…Yes.” The short reply was a long time in coming, and Tailgate was honestly shocked that he'd said yes. Hastily, he move to kneel next to the larger mech, who was now leaning back on his servos. Hesitantly, he grabbed the spike with one servo, then the other when he realised one alone just wouldn't cover any sort of space.

“Uh, like this?” He began to move his servos up the spike, rubbing over the head and bringing them back down again. He felt more than saw Cyclonus shudder, so he had to assume he was doing something right.

“Mm, yes. But harder, it won't break.” Cyclonus’s optics were dimmed as he stared at Tailgate's servos, though the minibot noticed his claws gripping and flexing at the berth. He shuffled forward a little more, trying to get a better angle, and increased his grip a fraction, then slightly more when he saw Cyclonus's mouth open slightly in pleasure. Being able to do this, to cause what was obviously pleasure, was a heady, proud feeling, and Tailgate found himself wanting more than anything to be able to do this again.

He noticed tiny little sparks began to flicker along the ridges of the spike, and he belatedly realised that Cyclonus had been charged up for both of his own overloads, and must be so charged up and ready to realise, it had to be almost painful. The thought that Cyclonus would do that, ignoring himself in favour of Tailgate’s pleasure, was more than the minibot could contemplate right then, so he pushed it to the back of his mind and concentrated on the job. Thinking to himself of how aroused Cyclonus became when he sucked his own digit, a thought crossed his mind, and he bent his head down before he could back out. Shaking slightly, he poked his glossa out to try licking at the head of the spike in his grasp, feeling inordinately pleased with himself when Cyclonus’s chassis rumbled loudly and his head tipped back in a deep groan. Confidence boosted, he started to lick up and around the head, making sure to keep his servos moving and squeezing over the hot, rigid length.

He'd just poked the tip of his glossa into the slit atop the spike, when Cyclonus froze up and choked out a grunt as he overloaded. Unexpectedly, hot transfluid shot directly into tailgate’s mouth, and he squeaked in surprise, pulling back to wipe at his mouth, glancing over at Cyclonus who’d shuttered his optics completely and was now relaxing back, his arms bent at the elbow.

“You could have warned me!” Tailgate nearly hit out at Cyclonus, though stop himself, not really wanting to ruin his mood now that he'd gotten him mostly relaxed. Cyclonus for his part blinked his optics on blearily, and looked almost confused at the mess dripping down Tailgate's chin.

“I was too caught up and didn't realise.” Well, that was probably the closest he'd get to an apology.

Sitting up, Cyclonus pulled a couple of rags out of his subspace, throwing one to Tailgate to clean himself up with. Once he he'd cleared up his mess, he stood up, reset the window and went to lie on his own berth. Tailgate hadn't expected any post-overload snuggling, but it didn't mean he wasn't disappointed. Venting, he moved to lay down himself when he noticed the sticky fluids streaking across it. He let out a sound of frustration as he tried to clean it up, only to find it still left a disgusting residue, and he mostly just made it worse. Whining he looked over to Cyclonus to find him again staring at him, and he realised he still hadn’t put his visor or mask back on, and Cyclonus could see his overly dramatic expressions of annoyance. He made to grab them, but then thoughtfully looked back over at his room mate. Cyclonus wasn’t laughing at him, just watching, and seemingly just enjoying looking at him and the faces he made. Taking a vent, he managed to get his sentence out without any hesitations for once.

“Could I recharge in your berth? With you?” Cyclonus seemed to prefer it when he was direct, so maybe this'd get him somewhere.

There was no answer, and they both just looked at each other, before Cyclonus shifted to the side slightly, and let his arm move a fraction. Well, it was probably all the answer he was going to get, so Tailgate took his chances and walked over, dropping his masks carefully to the floor before he gingerly crawled up next to the other mech. A moment’s hesitation and he decided he might as well go for it, and he wriggled over to tentatively snuggle into Cyclonus's shoulder, and was very pleased when he wasn't instantly kicked out. Another few moments, and Cyclonus shifted to lightly rest his servo on Tailgate’s hip, causing the minibot to smile sleepily.

“Thank you.” He whispered before shutting off his optics and initiating recharge, smiling wider when he heard a mumbled 'it's fine' before he shut down completely.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how this compares to the previous bit, but I hope people like it anyway >_>;

 

Tailgate hadn't been surprised to wake up alone the next day. The berth was cold and Cyclonus had long gone off to whatever duties it was he did, but when Cyclonus hadn't spoken to Tailgate in two days days, nor had he even seen him in that amount of time, the minibot began to worry, though the feeling was overshadowed by disappointment. He'd asked Swerve if he'd seen him, though apparently the last anyone saw he'd been helping Ratchet out in the med-bay for some unknown reason, and it was there that Tailgate hurried to, hoping if not to find his errant roommate, then to at least get some information on where he'd wandered off to. Tailgate was used to mechs dropping or ignoring him after an interface, but it was unusual for Cyclonus to not be brooding somewhere nearby and the small mech was determined to find him, and apologise for whatever it was he must've done wrong.

It was as he was frantically trying to recount if he’d offended the mech that he walked straight into something, or rather the back of someone in the corridor. His flustered apology however, was cut short when he realised he was actually staring up at the broad back of his roommate, who had half turned to growl at whoever had bumped into him. Tailgate was slightly confused by the box of spare parts Cyclonus was holding, though he paid it no mind as he launched into an apology, speaking before the other could tell him to ‘frag off’ or something.

“Cyclonus I'm sorry! Uh, especially for walking into you but um, whatever I did wrong I really didn’t mea-” He cut himself when Cyclonus glared a little more impatiently.

“Idiot. I'm not avoiding you, I've been doing…” He uncharacteristically hesitated. “I’ve been helping Ratchet. We'll discuss it later.” And with that he turned and walked a few paces, turning into the storage room along the corridor, the door clicking shut behind him.

Well... That was weird, and abrupt, though at this point Tailgate at least found Cyclonus’s weird behaviour consistent. Besides, it could've gone a lot worse, and at least he apparently hadn't done anything wrong, though Cyclonus _helping_ anyone was perhaps a worry in itself. He tried to put the situation, and his worries, to the side as he wandered off to find Swerve, hoping to pass the time with meaningless chatter before returning to meet Cyclonus later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tailgate sat on his berth, swinging his legs and fiddling with his servos whilst he waited for Cyclonus  to turn up. It was already pretty late, and he'd been waiting a while but he guessed Ratchet had his roommate doing something important. Oh well, it wasn't like he had any official duties he might be late for in the morning; Rodimus seemed at a loss as to what job to give him, so he was just told to ' _sit in the bar and act cute or something_. ' It wasn’t the worst job he’d ever had at least.

He'd just just lost himself in that trail of thought when the door opened, admitting a Cyclonus who looked rather more stern than usual, though he barely paid Tailgate any mind, locking the door before walking in to sit at the desk. He seemed to take a moment to gather his thoughts and then he turned to look at the expectant, yet worried minibot. 

“I asked a favour of Ratchet, and in return he asked that I help move and sort the crates of supplies he relinquished from Delphi. I agreed, though didn't anticipate that it would take me so long.” Cyclonus sat stiffly, seemingly uncomfortable, though Tailgate knew that _had_ to be impossible. He realised that task must have been what Cyclonus was doing when he literally walked into him, and wondered what sort of favour would make Cyclonus agree to such grunt work, knowing _everyone_ had been avoiding sorting the supplies for ages.

“Oh, that's cool I just wondered where you'd been y’know?” He tried pushing his luck. “What favour did you need?”

As usual Cyclonus thought his reply through instead of answering straight away, though to Tailgate's surprise he pulled a package from his subspace and carefully handed it to the smaller mech before answering.

“As I mentioned previously, if you wish to interface fully with me I will first need to prepare you due to the difference in our frame sizes, and your inexperience.” Cyclonus seemed, against all odds, slightly unsure of himself. “I asked Ratchet for his help and advice, confident in his professionalism and subtlety, and in exchange for my help he made us-you these.”

He gestured for Tailgate to open the box, and when he did he was surprised to see… Actually, he wasn’t entirely sure? Neatly arranged inside were three objects, all different in size and he tentatively reached for the smaller one, turning it over in his servos as he inspected it. It looked a lot like his new spike equipment, though it was a plain metal colour and didn't have as many interesting ridges or prominent nodes, and even this small one was slightly bigger than he remembered his own being. He looked up to Cyclonus for an explanation, lowering the object back to the box. Thankfully, his question was written clear across his face and Cyclonus wasted no time in answering him.

“False spikes. They're used by many mechs as a replacement or enhancement to interfacing. The three different sizes will enable to me to stretch you gradually and comfortably in preparation for my own spike.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in and when they did Tailgate just stared in shock; at the implications of the object in his servo, but mostly at the fact that Cyclonus had gone to so much effort for him. So much effort just to interface with _him_ , when he could've had, well maybe not anyone but there was definitely a collection of mechs on board who wouldn't say no to having the grumpy, yet strong and attractive mech in their berth.

He looked back to the false spikes in his lap, paying particular attention now to the larger of the three, hesitating before touching it and trying to rationalise his thoughts.

“So, these go… _in_ me?” He fingered along the soft, simple ridges of the large one, noticing it wasn't that much smaller than Cyclonus’s own spike. “Are… I mean these are pretty big, are you sure they'll even fit?”

Cyclonus shot him a dead stare.

“I have had these mods for over four million years, Ratchet even longer. I think we both know what we're talking about.” He moved from the chair to lay on his own berth, seemingly done with the entire conversation. Tailgate looked once more at the box before setting it to his side and turning to face Cyclonus.

“I’m sorry, it's just all kind of daunting you know?” He glanced away and gathered his courage. “I really, _really_ liked the other night and uh, I'd really like to do it again and maybe start uh… preparing me? I’d... I do want to interface with you like _that_...” He looked at his lap when he saw Cyclonus hadn't even glanced his way, and made to lie down himself, disheartened that the evening had turned sour so quickly.

“Thanks, for going to so much effort though. It… really does mean a lot, so thanks. For everything.” He was about to offline his optics and initiate recharge when Cyclonus shifted his head slightly to face him, glancing to the box at the bottom of Tailgate's berth before looking back to the minibot. They stared at each other a moment until Cyclonus brook the silence.

“If you are not tired, we can interface now. If you like.” The ending was a bit forced, but it instantly warmed Tailgate to think that Cyclonus cared enough to even attempt being polite. He tried not to launch himself, but he could tell from the amused glint in Cyclonus’s optics that his over-enthusiasm hadn't been missed. Slipping across the small gap between their berths, he waited for Cyclonus to roll to his side and scoot over slightly before clambering up, only to rush back to his berth to collect the box, crawling back into the berth clutching it to his chest. Cyclonus promptly grabbed the box and placed it on the small shelf between their berths, then focused on the minibot working his way into his arms, letting his free arm rest on a white hip.

“Just like last time, let your charge build.” He let his helm relax down to rest on Tailgate’s, in a position which Tailgate assumed he could see the entire length of their frames. “Show me what you learnt.” The purring voice was more than enough to get the start of a charge going for the minibot, and he quickly brought his servos up to begin playing with the seams on the broad chest in front of him, gasping when the clawed digits on his hip started to dip into the joint.

He reached up to nuzzle his face into Cyclonus’s neck cables, and then briefly pulled away to take off his mouth guard, dropping it to the floor before going back to the other's neck, hesitantly licking and nipping at a thick cable; a long gone lover had done this to him once, and he hoped it felt as good for Cyclonus as it had for him back then. The pleased rumble was more than enough incentive to trace his glossa over as much as he could, lightly nipping along cables whilst his small digits slipped under plating along Cyclonus’s sides.

Tailgate thought to himself that this position was much better for mutual contact, even if one of Cyclonus's arms was mostly trapped under his side. As much fun as the other night had been, he really did want to try and please Cyclonus in return, offering as much as he could give to the larger mech.

Apparently reading his thoughts yet again, Cyclonus shifted them both slightly, moving to squeeze his trapped arm until it was under Tailgate. He still couldn't do much, but he _could_ reach his arm down to cup Tailgate's aft and knead it in his servo, causing the small mech let out a low moan as he paused in his own movements to enjoy the feeling of that large servo stroking his newly sensitive aft plating.

In an attempt to get even closer to Cyclonus, Tailgate brought his leg up over the other mech's hip as best he could, pressing their panels together; the heat radiating from the both of them was immense, and only increased when Tailgate reached a servo up to brush along a sensitive flight panel on Cyclonus’s shoulder. The vibrating revs from Cyclonus’s powerful chassis shot straight to Tailgate's spark, and it was an effort not to release his chest plating and bare everything, so instead he tried to focus on the way those vibrations travelled his small body and stimulated the equipment behind his hot panels.

The sensations were almost too much as Tailgate moaned and whimpered into Cyclonus’s neck and chest, and when Cyclonus ground his palm down on his aft, using his other servo to tweak deep into his hip, his panels clicked open loudly, allowing a small trickle of built up lubricant to drip and smear between their plating. His spike pressurised instantly with a feeling of relief, though his valve was throbbing and just felt so _empty_. Mindlessly, he began to grind down on Cyclonus, hoping to stimulate himself a little, and was nicely surprised when the motion was returned, the larger mech moving a thick thigh between his spread legs and pushing back against his jerky thrusts.

Cyclonus’s free servo skittered up and down his back, causing Tailgate to cry out again when he stopped and started to play with his shoulder and wheels, clearly remembering how sensitive they were. Vaguely aware that his own servos had stopped, Tailgate launched himself back into trying to cause the other mech's panels to spring open, slipping tiny digits under plating to ghost along wires and the protoform below. 

Without thinking, Tailgate pulled his head back, and strained to reach up to kiss Cyclonus’s jawline. He hadn't even really realised what he'd done until he saw Cyclonus’s optics flash and refocus on him, looking at him in mild disbelief. Tailgate paused a moment, but when no comment was made he hesitantly pulled himself up further, to chastely peck a kiss on the other's lips, though as he was pulling back, Cyclonus surprised him by bending down and catching him in a full kiss, manipulating his mouth and drawing out shaky moans and soft cries.

As kisses went, it was rather… weird. Cyclonus didn't have particularly dextrous facial plating and he was unable to subtly move his mouth much. Instead he was harsh, unyielding and quite honestly perfect, nipping at Tailgate's lips lightly before he delved his glossa into the small mouth, coaxing him to return the gesture. As they pulled away slightly, Tailgate used the chance to lick and kiss up Cyclonus’s distinctive 'cheek bones', flicking his glossa though the gaps to run along the inside of his mouth. The deep moan and dimmed optics let Tailgate know he was doing a good job, and as he reached a servo up to stroke along Cyclonus’s remaining helm-spike, he was inordinately pleased with himself at the hitch of vents and shudder of the frame next to him.

Unfortunately, reaching up to kiss the larger mech had pulled his own array away from where it had been grinding against Cyclonus, and it was with honest reluctance that he pulled away from kissing to scoot back down to try and regain that pleasant pressure against his valve. However, his small spike was trapped between their bodies, and as it dragged down Cyclonus' abdomen he shuddered with the still new sensations, and had to pause once more to take it all in and collect himself before continuing.

As he shifted to rub his spike along that ridged abdomen again, Cyclonus’s servo, still on his aft, adjusted slightly and he let out a small whine as a sharp claw started to slowly circle his valve rim. It still didn't feel like enough though when his valve was clenching on practically nothing and still felt so damn _empty_.  

“P-please don't tease me!” He scratched and moaned against Cyclonus’s chest. “Please! I need more!” His begging was rewarded with an amused hum, and Cyclonus finally slid a single digit inside, twisting to stimulate and ignite desperate sensors along the way. 

Tailgate rocked back, split between grinding back on that single digit or rubbing his spike against the delicious friction of the other’s frame. Unable to choose he tried to alternate, selfishly using Cyclonus’s body, but he found he couldn’t care less as the blooms of pleasure shot through his body, the throbbing need spiralling higher into a bliss just out of his reach.

Apparently noticing Tailgate's dilemma, Cyclonus huffed what could almost be a laugh before inserting another digit, lightly giving a couple of thrusts and then using his whole servo to push Tailgate against his frame, causing his little spike to rub roughly along his plating at the same time as his digits hit deep and hard within the tight valve.

Tailgate was a warbling mess by the time Cyclonus finally released his own spike, though Tailgate didn't even realise until he was moved forward again, and instead off rubbing against rough abdominal plates, his spike instead slid along the hot length of Cyclonus’s spike. It felt different, but definitely more intimate and he jerked his hips as best as he could to try and get as much hot friction as possible.

A brief thought flickered through his processor, that if the hot ridged length felt this good against his spike, it would surely feel amazing rubbing deep within him, and he moaned at the thought and desire for it. That was a ways off yet though, but even if he couldn't have it _in_ him yet, he could at least have it _against_ him.

“Cyclonus c-can I-” he shifted up, lightly pushing Cyclonus to lay on his back, and straddled his thighs when his silent request was humoured. “I need, oh primus I need you Cyclonus!” Behind his visor his optics dimmed almost fully, and he pulled himself up Cyclonus’s chassis until he was hovering over that jutting spike. Slowly, he lowered himself until the head of the spike was nudging his valve rim, and oh primus it felt so good already he could hardly bear to wait until he could sink onto it properly.

Before he could think of moving though, strong servos came up to grip his waist, stopping him from even managing to squirm.

“Tailgate, don't. You'll hurt yourself.” Cyclonus sounded strained, obviously wanting this just as much, if not more than the whimpering minibot in his servos.

“I know I just-“ Tailgate managed to shift his hips ever so slightly, rubbing his valve rim around the tip of the huge spike. “Let me just-just feel you like this, please!” He continued to twitch his hips, and Cyclonus loosened his grip slightly when it was clear he wasn't about to do anything stupid. With the room to move, Tailgate sank down a little more, feeling the blunt end grind against the sensors along his rim; there was simply no way it'd be going in at the moment, but it felt wonderful and, judging from Cyclonus’s stuttering vents, he thought so as well.

Eventually though, the strain on his thighs became too much and he adjusted his position so that he sank back down, sitting on Cyclonus’s lap with the large spike jutting up in front of him. Before Cyclonus could object to anything, he laid himself across the broad chest, supporting himself on his servos and started to glide his valve along the length of the spike, grinding down to feel the heat and delicate ridges, whilst pushing it into Cyclonus’s own abdomen. The shuddering moan from the other let him know he was doing well, and he offlined his own optics to concentrate on the feelings he was receiving and giving. 

His grinding continued for a short while before he found his joints started protesting again, but before he could apologise, Cyclonus took it upon himself to solve the problem.

Tailgate’s optics onlined in surprise as his world suddenly flipped, and he looked around to find they'd swapped places, with Cyclonus looking heatedly down at him to where he was sprawled on his back. He didn't even have time to comment before Cyclonus had dipped his helm down to bite along his neck cables, and Tailgate found himself far too busy writhing and moaning to notice Cyclonus sneak one servo over his helm to the berth-side shelf.

He did notice however, when something cold and blunt was pressed against his valve, rubbing and coating itself in the excess lubricant dripping from his array. It felt different to Cyclonus’s spike, smaller and not as hot, but it didn't stop him from twitching his hips up in an effort to get it inside him.

“Oh! Oh please Cyclonus! Pleasepleaseplease!” His moans had turned to gasped pleading, trying to get the large mech to stop teasing already. To the minibot’s dismay, Cyclonus only rumbled with amusement, slowly rubbing the length of the false spike along Tailgate's valve, imitating the technique used on him earlier.

“You need to be patient, we have all night.” 

“I know but please! Oh primus I feel so empty and hot and I need it-I need _you_ -please Cyclonus!” Whatever misgivings Tailgate usually had about expressing his wants clearly disappeared when he was revved up and overheating, and at this point he was too overwhelmed and caught up in the sensations to notice Cyclonus’s optics darken.

“Hm, if you _insist_.” And suddenly Tailgate was filled completely in one unforgiving thrust, arching off the berth as he wailed, the overload unexpectedly crashing over him as every primed sensor and node within him was stimulated at once. Regardless of the pleasure already consuming him, Cyclonus kept thrusting the toy slowly thought his overload, drawing it out until Tailgate was a dazed, strutless heap on the berth, whimpering and moaning quietly at every languid thrust.

Somehow, he managed to come to himself enough to blearily look up at Cyclonus, noticing for the first time the intense, dark look which promised the night wouldn't be ending just yet. With another small noise, he managed to gather his strength and push himself up enough to grab at Cyclonus’s helm, and pull the other into another unexpected kiss, this one lazy and messy with his lack of focus and coordination.

The kiss didn’t last long however, and he pulled back with a startled cry as Cyclonus thrust the false spike in deeply again, though he was quickly moaning and pushing his hips up into the thrusts in an effort to take the toy deeper. It felt amazing, being stretched and filled, and he could only imagine it'd be better when it was Cyclonus’s own spike he was stretched around.

Cyclonus shuffled around a bit, never faltering with his thrusts, until he was straddling one of Tailgate's thighs, leaning over him and supporting his weight with his spare arm. It seemed slightly odd to Tailgate, until Cyclonus began grinding along his body in time with the trusting of the toy, rubbing his spike against Tailgate’s frame. Cyclonus was grunting and twitching, but it was nothing compared to the cries coming from Tailgate as he clutched at the other's shoulders and moaned and gasped into his neck.

Having already overloaded, it didn't take much for him to tip over the edge again, optics flickering to white as he shook under Cyclonus, and the larger mech took this as his cue, giving one final push of the false spike and stuffing it deep inside Tailgate's twitching valve. He let go of the toy, using his knee to keep it jammed inside as he brought his now free hand to grab at the minibot's waist before he thrust his own spike hard against the small frame under him. It didn't take much until he was roaring his own completion, spike jerking transfluid to streak across white and blue plating, mixing with the small puddle of the minibot’s own. With the overload, Cyclonus’s digits tightened so much that Tailgate was sure there'd be deep scratches and dents, but he truly couldn’t bring himself to care.

They lay like that for a short while, cooling fans straining to cope with the excess heat, until Cyclonus slumped to the side and collapsed next to an equally exhausted Tailgate. The small movement jolted the toy still deep within the minibot, and he groaned with a mixture of pain and pleasure as the over sensitised valve walls were nudged.

When he thought he could move again, Tailgate shakily reached down to carefully remove the false spike, hissing slightly as he dragged it against sensitive nodes on the way out, and then pausing to think what to do with it. After a moment’s thought he ended up just dropping it on the small table, confident it could be cleaned later, before he simply flopped back next to Cyclonus, though almost startled when he turned and was met with a trademark stare. Neither said anything, and eventually Tailgate quirked his lip slightly before deciding to snuggle in, confident that Cyclonus would kick him out if he was unhappy.

“You have your own berth you know.”

“Yeah I know.” He was about ready to recharge, until he shifted and suddenly he was aware of the mess starting to dry on his plating. Ick, this method of interfacing felt unbelievably good, but the mess which came with it was kind of annoying. He was about to sit up to fetch a cloth, when he felt a strong servo rubbing a clean cloth over his chassis. The attention was unexpected, but definitely nice, and Tailgate relaxed into the precise touches, adamant that he'd repay the favour if Cyclonus would let him.

“You can clean up properly in the washracks tomorrow.” Cyclonus was about to wipe down his own frame, when Tailgate reached out to stop him and take the cloth himself. When he wasn't discouraged he sat up to make sure he didn't miss anything, rubbing the cleaning cloth over every ridge and seam, and then with a surge of confidence he moved down to gently rub along the semi-flaccid spike, taking extra care to clean around the housing and lightly stroke up the spike with the cloth. Cyclonus was spotless by the time he was done, and when Tailgate turned back to look at his he was caught off guard by the contemplative look being directed at him.

He quickly wiped the berth as well, and dumped the cloth on the side as he lay back down next to the larger mech, who was still looking at him oddly. He ignored it, putting it down to Cyclonus just being odd post-overload, and shuffled until he was pressed against Cyclonus’s arm, reaching up with a servo to rest it on purple plating.

Tailgate was still almost expecting to be pushed off when Cyclonus shifted, and a large arm was draped over him, holding him securely. He smiled and wiggled deeper into Cyclonus’s embrace, happy to get as much out of it as he could before the other changed his mind, though as he initiated recharge he found himself hoping that for once this might last.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next two nights were much the same, with both mechs grinding and rubbing against each other to bring themselves to overload, and Cyclonus insisting that Tailgate not use the larger toy until his valve had stretched a little more. Tailgate didn't really mind, for as desperate as he was for Cyclonus’s spike, he was more than happy with their current arrangement, especially as Cyclonus had yet to kick him from his berth post-overload.

Currently, Tailgate on his way to med-bay, taking a box of Engex to Ratchet from Swerve as the spoils from some sort of bet, and if he was honest he wasn't really looking forward to encountering the medic, given his part in his current interface-life. Swerve had begged him however, apparently unwilling to face Ratchet either, and Tailgate had finally given in at the promise of free high-grade for himself and Cyclonus for an orn. He was quietly quite pleased with himself, and looked forward to telling his roommate the good news.

Unfortunately, his musings were brought to an end by the sight of the open med-bay doors and he stopped to adjust the crate in his arms before setting pede into the CMO's domain. A CMO who was nowhere to be seen apparently. He walked further in, setting the crate on an empty berth before he called out.

“Uh, Ratchet? Ratchet! It’s ” Luckily his shouts had been heard and a door at the back of the room opened to reveal a very dishevelled, very fragged off medic. Oh primus, were those paint transfers? Had really he interrupted the medic whil-

“First off-shift in orns and you have the nerve to-oh. It's you.” Ratchet seemed less than impressed at the sight of the minibot shuffling awkwardly in the middle of his med-bay. “What do you want? Don't tell me Cyclonus broke you already?”

“NO! I mean no! I don't-no it’s not-” He was practically frozen with embarrassment. “It’s uh, Swerve. It's Swerve! He sent this to you!” He almost tripped in his haste to move and point out the crate of Engex, though at least the sight of his spoils perked Ratchet up a little. Package delivered he moved to get out as fast as he could, until a servo on his shoulder stopped him.

“Tailgate, wait.” He reluctantly turned to face the medic, forcing himself to meet his optics. Frag but Cyclonus was less scary than this old mech. “I did actually want to ask, though this is more Rung's area… I wanted to make sure you and Cyclonus, it’s…” Another pause and Ratchet looked almost worried. “Is he treating you well? It's not my place to pry bu-”

“No. It's not.” Both mechs looked equally shocked when Tailgate interrupted him, but the minibot was suddenly determined to finish his piece. “I’m happy with Cyclonus, more than I think I've ever been, and I know no one else likes him but I do! And-and he's good to me, and doesn't show it well maybe but I think…” His vents sighed and he looked to the floor, and steeled himself before meeting Ratchet’s optics again. “Thank you, for your help with uh, you know. And thank you for looking out for me, but I'm fine. We're fine. And I just-yeah I think I'm gonna go now so uh, bye.” He managed to leave a speechless Ratchet and walk calmly out to the hall, where he collapsed out of sight of the medic to try and control his rapidly spinning spark. Primus had he really said that? To _Ratchet_? He groaned at how insubordinately he'd acted and held his helm in his servos. 

Was it too early in the cycle for a drink?


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where this fic is going help
> 
> (it was all just supposed to be a quick thing for my Tumblr, people weren't meant to actually like it ;_; )

Tailgate was minding his own business, fiddling with some spare bits of electronics at an empty table in the bar, when his world flipped and the ground suddenly started moving.

The shriek he let out was definitely not one of his finer moments.

“I need you for something. And you're gonna help. Direct order, let's go!”

Ah. Rodimus. Well that explained the _who_ , but it didn't explain at all _why_ Tailgate was being carried under his captain's arm while he ran down the corridors, pushing other mechs to the side. This was clearly just further evidence to his theory, that the war had made everyone just a bit _crazy_.

“S-Sir I don’t- wait!” It was hard to speak when he was being jostled about so much, and Rodimus didn't seem to even care what he had to say so he decided to stop wasting his time trying, just hopeful that he might come out of this alive. Soon enough they skidded to a stop, and from Tailgate’s limited view this looked like… A couple of rooms away from the medibay? What?

Rodimus, thoughtful as ever, dropped him to the ground without a second thought. When Tailgate brought himself to his senses, he noticed that Rodimus was pulling the grate off a vent high up in the wall. Was he- _Please no_ …

“I, need you to get in here, and keep going until you get over Ratchet's Office.” He looked down at Tailgate like this was perfectly normal. “He’s fragging someone, and I wanna know who but you're the only one who'll fit in this vent.”

Which was a lie, because there were at least three other minibots on this ship, and a couple of Blaster’s symbiote-cassette guys and Rung was pretty slim too, but his captain didn’t seem in the mood to be told this.

“Rodimus, s-sir I don't think-wahh!” He was ignored, as expected, and instead Rodimus pulled him up off the floor, and hoisted him up to the vent; the second he had a slight grip on the opening his captain let go, forcing him to scramble up inside.

“Good! Now get going! Who knows how long that old geezer -no offence- will last.” Rodimus sounded practically jovial about the whole thing, like it was a joke and he hadn't just stuffed a minibot in a vent and told him to go peep on someone. Primus but how was this guy in charge?

Unfortunately, there wasn't really anything he could do, so he blocked out whatever Rodimus started telling him to do, and wiggled his way through the vents, hoping to primus that Ratchet had finished or that Rodimus was wrong or-oh. No such luck judging by the sounds echoing down the vent.

It was a tight squeeze even for him, and he wondered why he couldn't have been stuffed into one of the vents Skids had taken to wandering through. Annoyingly, as he came closer and closer to the highly embarrassing sounds there wasn't another opening he could jump and run away through, and he was left deeply suspicious that Rodimus had planned it that way.

It was only a bream or so before he found himself turning a corner, and suddenly the sounds weren't quite so muffled anymore; a short distance of more wiggling and he was in front of a vent overlooking Ratchet's office, and maybe if he was lucky he could shutter his optics and crawl over the grate and he could pretend this never happ-

“Ah! Ratchet! There, _please_!” Was that-

“Nng! Drift you should be using your mouth for- Yes, that!” And apparently it was.

He managed to lower his audial input enough that he could only hear faint murmurs, but as he tried to scoot backwards to escape, he misplaced a servo and ended up falling forward.

Thankfully he managed to stop himself for hitting or falling through the grate.

Alas, that did stop the view from below searing itself into his memory core for life.

The office was trashed, but in the middle of it all Drift was lying back flat on Ratchet's desk, whilst the medic lay over him, though his helm was facing Drift's pedes? From what he could see, Ratchet was licking at the other's spike whilst pumping his hips against Drift's face, and from Tailgate's new experiences, he could only guess Drift was uh… also taking Ratchet's spike into his mouth? Though the strength with which Ratchet was thrusting it surely couldn't be comfortable. _Surely_?

Judging by the sounds he'd heard though, both seemed to _really_ like it.

He didn't know how long he'd been staring before he came to his senses and quickly backed away before either of the mechs below noticed him, and whilst he'd been lucky they hadn't heard him almost fall, preoccupied as they were, he wasn't taking any more chances. He backed up slowly, and it took a lot longer to work his way out than getting in, but eventually his pedes hit the grate and he lowered himself out a little, hoping that Rodimus would catch him.

He didn't.

Tailgate was left flailing, aft sticking out and pedes kicking a little as he shouted for Rodimus, and in the end he just braced himself and let himself fall down, knowing it might hurt but at least he'd get out of the ridiculous situation. He'd just crashed to the floor when a hand helped him up again, and he looked up to Rodimus mouthing at him excitedly. Oh yeah.

“-in the middle of a call, you didn't have to jump I was nearly done.” Tailgate was already regretting turning his audials back up. “SO! Who was it? Ambulon? Aid? Or that, what's his name. The one with the bow and arrows?”

Did Rodimus even know who was on this ship? And Ratchet and Atomizer, _seriously_? He managed to cut him off before he could spout any more ridiculous theories.

“Drift. It was Drift.” He felt bad about sharing the information, but if it got his captain to leave it was worth it. Judging by Rodimus's shocked expression, the third in command wasn't who he expected though.

“ _Drift_? I thought it was just me and Percy he was seeing…” Tailgate shuffled away a little, as the conversation was starting to stray into places he didn't need to hear about. Luckily, Rodimus seemed to suddenly fall deep into thought, and wandered away preoccupied. The lack of 'thanks' was a bit annoying, but at this point he was just happy to be able to scamper the opposite way and try and forget that anything had ever happened.

~~~~~~

It was impossible to forget what had happened.

The image of Ratchet and Drift pleasuring each other in that weird position was etched into his processor, and no matter what he tried doing he found his thoughts wandering back to it, and consequently found his frame kept heating up a little before he managed to control himself.

This had to be some kind of retribution for being such a sneak and watching the two of them, and if he knew this would happen, this on-off distracting arousal, then he'd have at least tried harder to get away from Rodimus.

It was honestly more embarrassing than arousing, but whenever his thoughts drifted to the other two mechs, they inevitably then wandered to the thought of him and Cyclonus doing _that_ and that's when his cooling fans kicked up a notch and he found himself struggling to focus on anything.

Tailgate had already retreated to his quarters, though he began to wonder if perhaps the wash-racks might have been a better choice with a freezing shower to calm himself down. Or maybe he could dispel the heat a _different_ way, as Cyclonus wasn't due back for a while yet, which would be plenty of time to overload himself and get his frame under control. Yeah, that'd work, though he knowingly and deliberately ignored the heating of his new array. His new parts were fun, but he hadn't touched his spark in a while and he was kind of craving a different sort of overload.

He began by laying back comfortably and touching his chest plates, rubbing along well-known seams and hot spots which left him tingling and venting slightly heavier. Before too long, one servo had strayed to his hip, though while he plucked and teased he lamented that his digits weren't as long nor as sharp as Cyclonus’s. Oh, now there was something to imagine whilst he touched himself, Cyclonus above him, teasing and touching him, maybe scraping one of those clawed digits across his spark chamber. His small engine revved harder at the thought, and he put more strength into his touches as he fantasised.

He imagined Cyclonus kissing him, then moved his servo up to pitch his own neck cables as he imagined the larger mech biting him, hitching a small moan at the sensation. Unfortunately, he didn't have much past experience to go on, so it was all up to his imagination. Perhaps Cyclonus’s digits spreading him, no his _spike_ spreading him wide and leaving him incoherent with pleasure. He hadn't felt it fully yet, but he knew that when he finally did it was going to be amazing. 

His chest plates parted under his servo, the crack of light brightening the room a little more. He dipped a couple of digits in to stroke the inner cover, arching into his own touch and clenching harder with the servo in his hip. Despite his intentions he could feel his new panels heating up, and without thinking he moved his touches from his hip to begin rubbing at his spike cover, moaning quietly at the new wave of sensations.

Where had he been? Oh, Cyclonus! Ah he couldn't wait. The weight and power of the mech when he was above him already sent his mind reeling, and it could only feel better with that power inside him as well. Or maybe they could try like he'd seen earlier. He'd enjoyed licking Cyclonus’s spike, and it'd surely feel great if the other mech did it to him…

By this point his chest plates had fully opened, and Tailgate had his whole servo in his chest, stroking the chamber and pressing harder and harder, in an effort to pretend it was his room mate touching him instead. With another hard grind of his palm, his spike panel shot open and he started to stroke the emerging length, skittering his digits across the ridges in an attempt to replicate the feeling of claws. He was already ridiculously close to overloading and he’d only been at it for a few breams.

As he stroked harder with both servos he let his fantasies run wild, and they became disjointed and more graphic. Cyclonus above him. Cyclonus in him. Cyclonus licking his spark. Cyclonus taking his spike. Cyclonus shouting his name. Cyclonus, Cyclonus-

“ _C-Cyclonus_ !”

“Do you need something?”

Tailgate's optics shot online, only barely able to glance at Cyclonus looking down at him with amusement before he was toppling over the edge, too late to stop himself crashing into an overload. His spark released energy over his digits whilst his spike jerked transfluid over his abdomen, though the sensations his overload was heavily laced with humiliation.

As soon as he was able to move even slightly, Tailgate slammed his chest plates shut and rolled away, sitting up near the head of the berth. He couldn't do much about his slowly depressurising spike for the moment, but he still covered it with his servos to try and preserve what little dignity he might have left.

He was in shock, unable to form words and the sheer horror of the situation left him trembling slightly under Cyclonus’s gaze. He risked a glance upwards, though snapped back to looking at his servos when he saw Cyclonus was still staring, and still looking highly amused. Oh primus but this had to be the most embarrassing cycle of his life. His trembling became worse, as the silence crept on and he became more overcome with his emotions, and he jumped and almost screamed when a servo landed on his shoulder.

“I told you before. I am flattered that you think of me in such a way.” Cyclonus spoke lowly as he leaned over him slightly, pushing his shoulder back to prompt Tailgate to look up. He still looked amused, but it was soon overshadowed by lust as his optics dimmed fractionally. Though Cyclonus soon moved away, the feel of the touch on Tailgate’s shoulder lingered. “I had planned to move up to the next size tonight, if you were willing.” He left the statement at that, neither requesting nor refusing. 

Despite the humiliation still burning in his circuits, Tailgate couldn't help but also feel a shoot of desire run though his spark. He nervously looked up at Cyclonus, for some reason still expecting the larger mech to laugh at him, and though logically he knew he wasn't like that, it was still hard to stop from expecting the worst. When he could only see lust and unexpected patience he calmed down and managed to reply.

“I-uh… I'd still be up for that, if you want?” He was still a little shaky, but decided ignoring his lingering embarrassment would work out best. On top of which, he hadn't seen Cyclonus this patient in a while, and wondered if he could bring up the new position he'd seen without the other mech asking where he seen it. “I, um-there was a thing, I thought we could maybe try?” Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Cyclonus merely tilted his head the tiniest fraction, and Tailgate took that as permission to continue.

“I um, uh… Lie on your back, please?” He was flustered, and still a little bit spooked, with what little confidence he had waning under the incredulous look Cyclonus shot him. Regardless of the wariness, Cyclonus complied, laying back on Tailgate’s berth, his optics never leaving the minibot.

Tailgate was wondering how to even go about doing this next bit, and after hesitating he eventually just shimmied himself over next to Cyclonus. He avoided looking at the other mech, sure he’d lose all his nerve if he had to, and awkwardly managed to straddle him backwards, facing his pedes. Just when he thought he'd be able to get away with it without any questions, Cyclonus decided to speak up.

“Where did you learn this?” Tailgate froze. He couldn't lie, as Cyclonus always saw straight through him, but what else was he supposed to tell him without sounding like a complete pervert?

It was a little easier to lie if they weren’t looking at each other, not that it actually helped.

“I overheard some mech-AH!”

“Tailgate…” The low rumble was warning enough, though the digits suddenly digging into his hips were an added threat. The small mech hunched over, before forcing the words out in a stream of prattle.

“I just-Rodimus made me! He pushed me into this vent and told me to go look, and I swear I didn't wan to but he's the captain.” He hunched lower, trying to be as small as possible. “And then I couldn't help it, and it was Ratchet a-and Drift and it looked weird but nice but I swear I didn’t mean-” A soft flex of the claws in his hips brought him to a halt, and he tentatively uncurled himself and glanced back at Cyclonus.

“Don’t worry yourself so much about such ridiculous things.” The claws started a familiar dance of teasing and pinching, causing Tailgate to gasp lowly and shuffle back. “Now, why don’t you show me what you saw.”

He didn't waste any time, removing his mouth guard and adjusting so that when he lay flat his face was hovering above Cyclonus’s heating spike panel. It was a shame he was too short for his own panel to reach Cyclonus’s mouth, but maybe the larger mech would have a solution for that later.

He started using his small digits to skim along seams in Cyclonus’s thighs, running under larger plates where he could and skimming over ones he couldn't. As he made an effort to bring up Cyclonus’s charge with his servos, he began in earnest to lick and kiss at the closed panel in front of him, alternating between long laps across the main plate, and flicking teases with the tip of his glossa along the panel seams. He could feel the panel getting hotter under his glossa, and as he reached to stroke behind Cyclonus’s knee joint, he was pleasantly surprised by the low moan from behind him.

Tailgate kept up his ministrations, only faltering slightly when Cyclonus began to rub his thighs and aft, but he was quick to regain his composure and regain mouthing the plating below him. He was almost surprised when he heard a soft click, panel sliding and transforming aside; Cyclonus usually seemed to take a lot longer to get to this stage, though he gave a pleased hum at the thought he could have this effect on the usually stoic mech.

He watched, slightly in awe, as the large spike rose smoothly before his optics, amazed as always at the sheer size of it, though he didn't waste any time in moving to grasp around the base, brushing the raised textures and trying to cover as much as he could with his tiny servos. 

When it had fully pressurised, he had to shuffle back slightly to make room for it, but once he had adjusted he quickly sank back down and began licking and kissing, much as he had with the panel. Broad wet laps from the base to the tip, then teasing flicks to the underside of the head and slit, where he could already taste the transfluid. He could feel the chassis under him heating and vibrating before he heard the moans, and the sharp clench of claws on his thighs only pushed him to lick and rub harder.

Suddenly however, the minibot was caught off guard when Cyclonus grabbed and pulled both white pedes towards him, though he paid it no mind until a skittering along the underside of his pede caused him to freeze and shudder; the only times his pedes had ever been touched was in a full decontamination wash, and the last one of those had been vorns ago, making the tingling sensation which ran up his legs new and interesting. It wasn't arousing as such, but it was pleasant and added to the warmth running through his body, and he hummed happily against the spike at his mouth.

He was just about to try taking the spike in his mouth when Cyclonus pinched a particularly sensitive wire, and he choked on a laugh before he could help himself. He was slightly confused at his own reaction, and Cyclonus was too judging by the way he'd instantly stopped his teasing, and Tailgate tried to ignore that it happened, moving forward again to lick the spike and convince Cyclonus it hadn’t happen either.

Unfortunately, Cyclonus was not so easily convinced, and another tweak of that same wire had him choking again, though this time Cyclonus didn't stop and before he knew it he was twitching and giggling, grasping at the spike in his hands as he wriggled on top of the large mech.

“Wha-nooo! Nonono st-ahaha no st-ahh! Cyclonuus wh-haha! Come on s-stop it!” Thankfully Cyclonus huffed a chortle and stopped before Tailgate could kick him with his flailing, and the minibot giggled and sank down in relief that the, admittedly fun, torture was over. As Cyclonus smoothed over the areas he’d molested, Tailgate made a note to remember to test his luck and see if he could find any similar spots on the larger mech. He might not survive if he did, but there were worse ways to die.

As Tailgate calmed and regained some control over his frame, Cyclonus’s touches went back to teasing and running his servos up the smaller mech's pedes and aft, though it wasn’t long before he was again catching the minibus off guard with a particularly rough stroke over the small valve cover.

“Open up. The command should be in the same area as the manual commands for you optics and recharge.” It took Tailgate a moment to find it, but it was there, neatly integrated with other options, and he wondered why he hadn't seen it before until he realised he hadn't had to manually initiate recharge since he and Cyclonus had been sharing a berth.

His panel opened with a soft click, and though it hadn't quite been ready to open of its own accord, it was still starting to lubricate, waiting to be touched. Tailgate decided to take that as his cue to start licking again, though before Cyclonus could overwhelm him, he made a good effort at taking the spike into his mouth. He stretched his mouth as wide as possible, and sank down on the head as much as he could, barely managing to fit the head and a little of the shaft in before it got too uncomfortable. He knew he'd never be able to take it the way Drift had taken Ratchet's, so instead tried to use his glossa to stimulate it a little, servos wrapped and rubbing around the bit he couldn't fit in. It was pretty similar to the first time he’d done it with the larger mech, though the angle was definitely different, and he liked to think he’d learnt a bit since then.

Judging by the way Cyclonus’s vents hitched and how he shuddered under him, he was doing pretty well, though it was the cut off shout and uncontrolled grab on his aft that really let him know just how much Cyclonus liked it. He moaned when Cyclonus started kneading his aft, claw tips ghosting along the rim of his valve, and the vibrations apparently shot through to the spike in his mouth because Cyclonus was groaning again behind him, the purple hips twitching in an effort not to buck up.

Tailgate tried to move with his mouth, trying to imitate what he'd seen, and though it was a little awkward he soon got the hang of it. Pulling off the spike, he lathered it in licks and kisses before he pushed himself back on it, taking it as far as he could. His servos were never still, constantly stroking and working to rub his dripping oral lubricant over the rest of the spike, allowing the glide of his servos to be as smooth as possible. Under him, Cyclonus’s chassis was scorching hot and rumbling with constant vibrations from the larger mech's engine, which only added to the minibot’s rapidly growing arousal.

His valve felt empty though, clenching as it was on the tips of claws which barely brushed over it, and he twitched his own hips back to try and prompt Cyclonus to at least sink one digit in. Clearly noticing his need, Cyclonus indulged him buy sinking in two digits, scissoring them and flexing them to stretch the lining, causing shoots of pleasure to run though Tailgate's frame as he knowingly found and manipulated sensors.

Tailgate moaned again at the intrusion, and thrust his hips back as much as he was able, trying to get the digits as deep as possible. After a few moments though, the digits unexpectedly left and he whined around the spike in his mouth, pulling off it to try and peer around to see what was going on. Before he could turn however, he felt a servo smooth itself over his aft, and then the rounded end of a false spike was slowly forcing its way inside him, stretching the callipers and lining far more than he was used to. It turned out to be a good thing that he’d drawn off the spike, as he ended up losing control of himself as he gasped and twitched back onto the larger toy, rhythmically clenching the base of the spike with his servos and staring unseeingly ahead, his jaw slack and dripping oral lubricants.

He was so caught up in the sensations, he didn't even realise it was fully in until two servos rubbed circles on either side of his aft, drawing his attention back to the mech he was lying on. Before he could return to the spike in his grip though, the servos on his aft squeezed and he had to try and focus on what Cyclonus was saying.

“How does it feel?” The servos began to stroke his aft and thighs again, soothing across his plating. Primus but how was he supposed to answer that when he could barely even think right now...

“I-it feels good, so good!” He ended up burying his helm into Cyclonus’s plating, weakly nuzzling at the spike with his face as he tried to form words. “S-so good, and _full_ and stretched and just a-amazing! B-but I wish it was your spike, oh primus I want you Cyclonus! Please, I want it to be you in-inside me...”

His lust-dazed chatter was broken off by Cyclonus finally drawing the toy out and easing it back in, angling it to glide along a row of sensors before hitting the ceiling node. He cried into the base of the spike he was nuzzling at, and scrambled to get up and get his mouth around it again before he became too much of an incoherent mess

He'd just managed to suck the head back into his mouth when a push of the toy, and a hard thrust from Cyclonus’s hips impaled him from both ends, the spike ramming the back of his intake as he floundered with his servos. The pleasure in his valve easily distracted him for the slight pain in his intake as he gagged around the intrusion, and after flailing slightly he ended up moving one servo back to the base of the spike, and another to Cyclonus’s hips where he clutched desperately to his plating.

       

After a few more hard thrusts like that, Tailgate gave up trying to lick at the spike, and just let himself relax to enjoy the burning pleasure in his valve whilst Cyclonus used his mouth. His relaxing must have been obvious, because Cyclonus started thrusting harder and quicker, obviously close to his own overload if his deep grunting was anything to go by. Unable to do anything with his mouth, Tailgate just delved his digits into the hip joint it was clutching at, striving to push Cyclonus that little bit further to tip him into overload.

It apparently worked, as on a particularly strong pinch of some main cables Cyclonus thrust up and froze with a roar, hips jerking as he filled Tailgate's mouth with his transfluid, though the minibot was unable to even swallow so just gagged on it. As Cyclonus relaxed slightly, Tailgate drew off his spike and spluttered, transfluid dribbling everywhere and splashing onto the plating below him. Before he could move a servo up to try and wipe a little off, he was tipped forward, then caught and turned to be placed in Cyclonus’s lap as he sat up, staring down at him and seemingly transfixed by the fluid dripping down the smaller's mech's chin.

Before Tailgate could even open his mouth, Cyclonus had dipped down to lick up the side of his face, glossa smoothly licking up the mess and then running back up the other side of his mouth. Speechless, Tailgate barely noticed as Cyclonus adjusted him in his lap, one arm around his back while the other large servo moved down to palm at his unopened spike cover, which drew away automatically at his touch, spike extending into the waiting servo.

On the next swipe of the glossa, Tailgate reached out with his own, licking along Cyclonus’s lips before pushing up to engage in a slow kiss, clinging to the large mech whilst his spike was worked over. It didn't take much, with the fullness in his valve and the rough touch on his spike, and he was soon moaning in his own overload, twitching while he spilled over Cyclonus’s servo and abdomen.

Pulling away from the kiss, Tailgate nestled his head into Cyclonus’s chest, humming happily, and when Cyclonus moved to put his other arm around him, the minibot grabbed it, bringing it up to his mouth to lazily lap and suck at the sharp digits, cleaning off his own spill in an imitation of the other mech. He squeaked when Cyclonus held him tighter, though smiled around the digits in his mouth when the other lay back, curling himself around the small mech, his engines practically purring.

Before they got too comfortable, Tailgate wriggled his hips slightly, trying to dislodged the now uncomfortable false spike, and he was relieved when Cyclonus withdrew his servo from the small mouth to reach down and remove it for him, setting it to the side to be sorted out later. The same hand came back up to hold the back of Tailgate's helm, and if the smaller mech didn't know better he would almost call the embrace a hug.

Still, Tailgate enjoyed how Cyclonus became almost, well not soft after an overload, but he was definitely more likely to indulge his small roommate in embraces or soft kisses, and he had yet to kick him form his berth which was an added bonus as Tailgate quickly found that he preferred recharging next to someone.

Actually, recharge sounded pretty good right now, and especially with the soft rumbling from the larger chassis he was surprised he hadn't drifted off already. Absentmindedly he closed his panels, and wiggled deeper into Cyclonus’s hold, smiling softly to himself when he was gripped slightly harder, and shutting off his optics to let recharge take him naturally.

~~~~~~~~~

“Hey Tailgate, you seen Cyclonus around?” Oh primus why was Drift talking to him of all mechs? Tailgate looked up from his datapad to see that everyone else in the room was boisterously cheering about something or another, and Drift was in front of him, smiling at him while he waited for an answer.

An answer which Tailgate tried to give, but failed with as he ended up choking and spluttering when he accidentally caught sight of red paint transfers on the inside of the other mech's thighs. No, he couldn't do this. He quickly stood up, trying to look calm as he edged around the table.

“I have no idea! And uh, you've just reminded me I have to go do something! So thanks and bye!” And he fled as quickly as he could, swearing he could feel the confused look follow him from the room.

~~~~~~~~~

It was some time later that he was minding his own business, wandering the hallways when he was suddenly pulled into a storage room by the hood on his back. He floundered, praying that this was just Cyclonus being weird but felt his spark stop when he turned to find himself looking up at his captain. Oh please no…

“So, I need you to do some more surveillance for me, look there's this other vent-hey!” Rodimus was cut off by Tailgate pushing against him and scrambling for the door, determined not to be dragged into this again. He made it through the door, Rodimus apparently too shocked to pull him back, though he followed him out to the hallway where he just grabbed him again.

“Hey what's up, I just need-“

“No! Last time made me really uncomfortable and I don't want to!” He struggled to get out of Rodimus’s hold, though was saved by one of the last mechs he wanted to see.

“Rodimus? Tailgate? The pit’s going on?” Ratchet had appeared, most likely on his way to the bar after his shift, and though Tailgate heated up with embarrassment at the sight of him, he used the opportunity to wriggle out of Rodimus’s grip.

He managed to step away, looking back to see Rodimus glaring at a confused Ratchet, but didn't waste any time in using the opportunity to scamper away and hide in his quarters.

~~~~~~~~~

The next few cycles were torture; if he wasn't hiding from Rodimus, then Drift or Ratchet would appear out of nowhere and he'd be left so embarrassed he had to run and hide or not look at them, and mechs were starting to notice. He'd ended up holing himself inside Hoist’s workshop whenever possible, as it was off the main route and nice and quiet. Hoist actually himself gave him spare bits to fiddle with as well, and he'd already made a couple of small ornaments which he'd gifted to Swerve and Rung.

Apparently though, he'd missed it all coming to a head when Hoist returned looking fairly flustered, sinking to a stool when he asked him what had happened.

“Rodimus ended up confronting Ratchet in the bar, something about fragging Drift without him knowing. They argued for a while. At some point Perceptor came in, told them both that in no uncertain terms that Drift was _his_ , and that they were 'both lucky he and Drift had such an open relationship' and then he glared a bit. Rodimus huffed and Ratchet laughed it off.” He sank lower into his stool, and moved a servo to cover his face. “And then Percy dragged Drift out and I really didn't need to know the dynamics of their relationship in such detail you know?”

Tailgate just stared, project in his servos forgotten as he absorbed the information. Hoist was right, he _really_ didn't need to know about the weird ins-and-outs of Drift and Perceptor's relationship, but he realised that this mean he was possibly free! Sure there'd still be some embarrassment at the fact he'd seen two highly ranking officers going at it, but at least Rodimus would stop trying to get him to spy on them. And if everyone knew now, he wasn't keeping it a big secret and wouldn't accidentally let it slip either.

“That kind of sounds like one of the old holo-vids we used to watch…” Hoist nodded in agreement, made a joke about Drift running off to a moon with Roddy and got on with his own work. Tailgate turned back to the project in his hands, thankful that strange little segment in his life was over.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really 100% happy with this chapter, and it's given me so much grief but omg I'm sick of looking at it :U
> 
> Also special chapter warnings for my poorly developed headcanon, and a lame as hell ending ;_;

Cleaning, while not exactly the most exciting of ways to spend his time, was oddly relaxing. Tailgate assumed it had something to do with ‘fulfilling his function’, but then again, he wasn’t sure if that was just Golden Age propaganda speaking for him. Still though, as he scrubbed  at the tougher stains the drones couldn’t clear he felt oddly at peace, taking pleasure in being able to be useful, while happily letting his mind wander to more interesting things.

Interesting things like the last few nights, where he’d offlined each evening after being brought to overload after overload by Cyclonus. He was distantly aware he was heating up just thinking about it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself as the images flew by; him spread across his roommate’s lap while sharp digits delved into his valve, or Cyclonus’s large servo rubbing both of their spikes together, their mixed fluids coating his servo after overload. Or, he shuddered in arousal, when he was riding that toy, pretending it was Cyclonus’s spike while the other mech watched, optics dark with lust as he stroked himself to completion. He squirmed with arousal, all too aware of the building wetness behind his panel, and the charge lightly starting to flicker through his frame. Frag, but even now, on his servos and knees, he was just reminded all too much of adopting this position for Cyclonus, reminded of the pleasure when his valve was teased and licked an-

“Well with such a cute little aft, no wonder Cyclonus keeps you all to himself.” No please not Whirl, not a time like this. “So you wriggling that backside for anyone in particular, or is it my lucky day?” Tailgate nearly screamed when a pede nudged against his aft, and he turned around so quickly he ended up knocking the bucket of cleanser over, the fluid spilling and trickling under him and across the floor.

“Whirl! Stop! I-what do you want?” He didn’t really succeed in keeping his voice steady, though thankfully Whirl didn’t seem to care enough to comment.

“What? Just appreciating the view.” He visibly slumped when Tailgate apparently didn’t give him the reaction he wanted, though it was more that he was too hesitant to move, rather than any bravado. “Che, whatever. Well, when Cyclonus gets bored of you, you know where to find me. Wouldn’t say no to such a tight little aft, even if you were that slagger’s leftovers.” Tailgate wasn’t sure how Whirl could leer without a face, but he managed it. Just when he was about to dart off though, Whirl just waved him off and turned to wander back down the hall, leaving Tailgate slumped with relief in the puddle of cleanser.

Well, at least it was over quickly. Shaking his helm he got to work clearing up the spill, trying hard to ignore the new feelings of doubt flickering around though his head. Cyclonus wouldn’t get bored of him, definitely not…

Wouldn’t he?

~~~~~~

By the end of the main shift, Tailgate had mostly managed to suppress any feelings of doubt, helped by the friendly atmosphere at the bar where he and the rest of ‘Swerve’s Gang’, among others, had been playing games and gossiping. The banter was easy and fun, and while Tailgate couldn’t drink Engex due to his older systems, Swerve had managed to pull together a low-energy cocktail for him, which he sipped on as he listened to the current conversation, which had decidedly taken a turn for more… Embarrassing topics.

“So Skids, how patchy is your amnesia? D’you remember interfacing or are you like, a born again ‘pristine’” Swerve, as always, had his processor disconnected from his mouth. Though while Skids clipped him around the back of the helm Tailgate was left pondering.

“What does that mean? Pristine?” He pulled a datapad out, in case he’d need to jot something down to reference later, though was put off slightly by the good-natured laughing from the rest of the table.

“Ratchet gave you those new mods right?” Rewind piped up from Tailgate’s side, reminding Tailgate that Whirl had decided to gossip about his new mods to the entire ship. “When they used to come from a factory, they had these seals to keep them clean during storage and installation.” He faltered at the new information, and decidedly didn’t write it down.

“Oh yeah! I remember _that_!” Skids gave him a hefty pat on the back while he grinned. “Yeah, some mechs liked to keep them, and then there was this whole new kink about breaking them and being the first to use it.” There was a murmuring of agreement and everyone cast their minds back to remember, and Ratchet chose that moment to pipe up from the next table, shaking his head at some unknown problem while he frowned into his drink as usual.

“Fragging stupid practice. It’s best removed by the medic, and then he can check it all works fine. There’s no point going through the whole ordeal to find it’s not installed properly when you need it.” He met Tailgate’s visor, speaking before the minibot could ask the obvious question. “I built yours from scratch, though you ran off before I could check it. Not like I’ve heard any complaints or anything though is it?”

“Are you and Cyclonus even compatible? I mean it must suck if you can’t even interface properly.”

“There’s more than one way to interface Swerve.” Though Ratchet didn’t elaborate, instead going back to his drink and conversation with First Aid.

Tailgate was aware of Skids nudging him again, though it didn’t really register through the complete and utter mortification he was suddenly drowning in. Suddenly, all the doubts were back, heaped on him along with the embarrassment at having his interfacing life prodded at by his friends. Panic attack. He was having a panic attack and he had to get out of there before anyone caught on and started worrying about him or making it worse. Standing up quickly, he pushed his drink away and collected his datapad, mumbling a vague excuse as he bolted towards the door, leaving his friends bewildered behind him.

Cyclonus didn’t look up when Tailgate crept into their room, too engrossed with whatever was on the datapad in front of him, though that was fine with the minibot, who just wanted to curl up and forget about his entire day. He managed to climb up onto his own berth and offline his optics before Cyclonus saw though his terrible attempt at nonchalance.

“Tailgate…” The warning rumble suggested that the minibot definitely shouldn’t try to lie or wiggle his way out of an explanation. He rolled to his side, onlining his optics to see that Cyclonus hadn’t actually torn his attention away from the datapad in his hand, and tried to think of any sort of excuse without outright lying.

“It was just guys at the bar. Talking about uh, interfacing and stuff…” He curled up a little tighter as the embarrassment came flooding back. When Cyclonus didn’t speak however, he found himself babbling a little more, in an effort to fill the silence. “We ended up talking about uh, ‘pristine’ mechs? And Ratchet explained um, seals and stuff to me, and then… Yeah I left pretty soon after that…” He trailed off when Cyclonus still hadn’t looked up, humming dejectedly as he offlined his optics again. Maybe Cyclonus just really wasn’t interested after all, and really who could blame him. It’s wasn’t like he had anything to offer the warrior, he was weak and out of touch with the world, and he couldn’t even offer his body properly…

The dark thoughts kept swirling and growing, reinforcing themselves more the longer he dwelled on them, and he unknowingly clutched at his helm in distress, curling on on himself until he was a trembling ball. He wasn’t sure how long he lay like that, too caught up in his thoughts to notice the rest of his surroundings, though he jolted with a strangled yelp when a servo pulled his own away from his face. Optics onlining again, he found himself once more staring up at a stern face, and immediately flinched when he realised he must have disturbed him.

“S-sorry…” He made to get up, but was stopped when Cyclonus didn’t relinquish his grip on his servo, and after a moment’s hesitation the large mech sat down stiffly next to the minibot. It was another moment again before he spoke, optics forward and avoiding Tailgate until he decided to speak.

“What happened today, to make you upset?” His gaze slowly turned down to the minibot next to him, and it was obvious to Tailgate that Cyclonus was feeling unsure. Which was… Refreshing actually, seeing the usually stoic and uptight mech behaving like… Well like an average mech for a change. It was still difficult to answer though, despite the warmth he felt in his spark that perhaps his roommate did care.

“Whirl... said some things.” He paused again, though Cyclonus just patiently waited for him to continue. “And they made me think that… I’m sorry.” He pulled Cyclonus’s servo into his own lap, clutching and staring at it. He wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to put what he wanted to say eloquently, so decided to just babble it out as it came to him. “I’m not- I’m sorry I’m weak and I talk too much and I’m annoying, and we can’t-we can’t even interface properly because of me but I really like you and I don’t… don’t want you to get bored of me, and I’m sorry you have to put up with me.” He trailed off again, still clutching at Cyclonus’s servo, though he jumped and dropped it when it pulled away, only to squeak in surprise when Cyclonus decided to pull him into his lap.

“I do not _have_ to put up with anything. If I found you annoying, I would have found a new room, and certainly wouldn’t be interfacing with you.” He carefully arranged Tailgate in his lap, until he was sat along his thighs, helm resting on his chest. “You _are_ weak, and you _do_ talk too much, but it’s who you are, and I _like_ that.” He paused for a moment, thinking before he spoke again. “You… remind me of Cybertron, of how I used to remember it, yet your determination to change and be more than you were labeled at creation, I find that reminds me of what we fought for. It is inspiring, even if I do not agree with the way you lie to achieve it.”

In the other’s lap, Tailgate had frozen, disbelief spread wide across his face despite the masks.

“I-Inspiring?”

“Mm, yes.” Before Tailgate could comment again, Cyclonus had ducked to rumble straight into his audio. “And as for interfacing, you please me in ways no other has. I like to take control, I like the way you relinquish that control to me so easily and beg for more.” A sharp digit was scraping slowly down Tailgate’s back, a full body shiver rippling through the minibot. “And when I finally get to pound that perfect little valve of yours, it will be all the sweeter knowing it’s just for _me_.” He emphasised the last word with a sharp tweak at a wire at the base of Tailgate’s back, the sudden jolt of pleasure causing a strangled gasp.

Tailgate didn’t have time to wonder where the dirty talk had suddenly come from, as the instant those sharp digits began to manipulate and play his body, he was moaning and writhing with each flick of a node or twist of a cable. One clawed servo was supporting and playing along his back while the other skittered up and down his trembling legs, and when digits ghosted along the top of his interface panel, he immediately spread his thighs, clutching at Cyclonus’s chest as he began to trace along the seams between his legs, the touch eventually spreading to lightly circle across the rapidly heating panel.

“C-Cyclonus-!” Tailgate hips were twitching into he light touch, already desperate for more.

“And I like how beautifully you react to the simplest of touches.” As if to reiterate that, he ran his glossa over Tailgate’s audio, the minibot unable to do more than squeak and shudder at the new sensation, his servos automatically coming up to cover his mask. Without removing his glossa from where it was lapping at the minibot’s helm,  Cyclonus brought his servo up to catch the smaller ones. “Don’t hide yourself.” Tailgate could feel Cyclonus’s lips moving into a smirk against his helm. “Or perhaps I should bind them, leaving you open and vulnerable for me to do as I wish.”

Both mechs seemed surprised at the answering rev of Tailgate’s small engine, as well as the soft snick of his interfacing panel clicking open. The minibot quickly brought his legs up and together as though to hide it.

“Ah- I’m no- aH!” A soft nip to his audial cut off what was bound to become an apology, and then the world spun when Cyclonus quickly picked him up and manoeuvred them until he was lying back on the berth, servos still in one of Cyclonus’s as the larger mech settled between his now spread legs.

“Do you wish to try it?” Cyclonus sounded serious, the playful touches stopping while he waited for an answer.

This evening, Tailgate decided, had taken a rather unexpected turn, and he still wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, given he had been close to a meltdown not a few kliks ago.

“I… Will you hurt m-I mean will it hurt?” The idea itself, being open to Cyclonus, his attention solely on him and their pleasure, was definitely appealing, and he trusted him, probably more than he should, but past experiences still made him cautious. At his slip however, the serious look on Cyclonus’s face darkened, and Tailgate glanced off to the side, sure that he’d lost whatever chance he’d been given.

“Not unless you ask for it.” His face was being pulled back straight so he could meet Cyclonus’s optics, and Tailgate was surprised to see that the dark look had softened slightly. A digit stroked along his mask. “Remove these, I want to see your full reactions.” His servos were released for him to comply, and when he looked back up he realised Cyclonus had brought out a length of faintly glowing energon-rope. He hadn’t moved, which meant he must have had it in his subspace for… For who even knew what.

“Why do…?” Cyclonus merely ignored his confused look and gesture at the rope, instead motioning for Tailgate to lay back with his arms above his helm.

“It’s a useful item to have in many situations.” And that was apparently all the answer he was getting, the larger mech reaching up to deftly tie and knot his servos together, securing them to the berth with something Tailgate couldn’t see. “Test it. Is it something you want to continue with?” Experimentally, Tailgate wriggled his servos, surprised to find that he couldn’t get free, but that it also wasn’t tight enough to dig in or hurt.

“I think it’s good?” To be honest he would have said it was fine even if it wasn’t. At this point he was all too aware of his valve dribbling lubricant down his aft, the empty ache increasing the longer Cyclonus sternly checked him over. “And yeah, let’s keep going.”

“You will tell me if it becomes uncomfortable, or if something distresses you.” It wasn’t a suggestion, and Tailgate nodded quickly to show his understanding. His gaze followed Cyclonus’s servo as it reached up to brush over his helm, and he unconsciously leaned into the light touch. “Offline your optics, and concentrate on my touch.” Trusting him, Tailgate complied, and was rewarded with a firm pet to the helm before the servo trailed down to touch along neck cables, pushing them apart to allow claws to scratch lightly at sensitive protoform. Tailgate’s whimper was met with a soft brush of lips against his, though they were gone before he could reciprocate, and his resulting whine was answered with a rumble and another brush of lips, this time against his cheek.

Tailgate was confused when Cyclonus pulled back a moment, and more so when something was tied over his optics and around to the back of his helm.

“What’s that?” He tilted his helm a bit to try and feel it out.

“A blindfold, in case you online your optics in the heat of the moment.” Tailgate could practically hear the smirk in Cyclonus’s voice. “It will work its way off easily enough if you wriggle, though I would prefer you to keep it on. Just relax, and focus on my touch.” Before Tailgate could question it further, he could feel the larger mech over him again, glossa laving along his neck plates, making him gasp and lean into the touch.

Cyclonus’s mouth followed his servos as he worked his way down Tailgate’s frame. Licks and light kisses were peppered wherever sharp digits scratched: over his chest, his abdomen and hips and eventually to just above his spike housing, where Cyclonus mouthed and licked for a moment until the cover shot aside, small spike jutting straight into Cyclonus’s waiting mouth.

“I-ah! C-Cyclonus I- Oh primus!” There was no feeling of suction, but Cyclonus expertly used his glossa to wrap and lick up the spike, the head rubbing against the roof of his mouth to his intake-tube and back again. Tailgate knew he was thrashing, his legs only stopped from kicking due to the larger mech’s weight upon them, and his moans grew shorter and shorter as he neared overload.

And then, when he was just on the edge, Cyclonus drew off, the sudden coldness and lack of pressure causing the minibot to wail and jerk, desperate for the final touch to push him over the edge.

“P-please! Please Cyclonus I can’t-please!” His cries were ignored, and he was dismayed to feel Cyclonus pulling away from him, and he tugged at the restraints, wanting to reach after him. In his panicked state, he could only think that Cyclonus had chosen to leave him like this as punishment or joke, like others had before. “N-no please! Please don’t leave me! Please don’t go! Cyclonus please! I’m sorry please don’t go!” His optics had shot online, but all he could see was light at the edges, and he was babbling and begging, mostly unaware of what he was saying, just knowing that he was desperate and couldn’t bear for the other to leave.

“Ssh, I’m here.” A servo was stroking over his helm again, and kept stroking and soothing as a comforting weight settled over the minibot again, another servo joining in the petting until Tailgate had calmed down from his sudden panic.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“There is nothing for you to be sorry about.” A servo moved to brush along the blindfold. “Do you wish to stop?”

“N-no! Just, I mean…” It was strange, looking and talking in the other’s direction, yet being unable to see him. “I… I thought you were going to leave.” The servos on his frame faltered for a brief moment, but quickly went back to petting, one tracing along the seams on the top of his helm.

“I did not mean to worry you, I was only collecting the false-spikes.” He stroked for a moment longer, Tailgate’s optics flickering back off at the soothing touch. “I would not leave you like this... It was my intention to keep you riled up while I collected them, not to distress you.” He sounded like he wanted to say more, but thought better of it, but Tailgate didn’t really care as long as the touches continued. 

Repositioning himself, Cyclonus settled between Tailgate’s thighs, moving both servos down to rest on white hips, thumb-digits lightly massaging at his plating. All at once Tailgate was again aware of his aching array, and he pushed his hips up in a silent plea for Cyclonus to continue, to help distract him from the last stray dark thoughts.

Slowly, the larger mech’s servos worked over his thighs and hips, before finally coming back to his array, where one grasped his spike, rubbing and twisting along the length. It didn’t take long for Tailgate to get worked back up to the edge, and he was whimpering and twitching as Cyclonus held him there, drawing it out with light touches to his valve rim. He pulled at his bonds, just for something to try and ground him as he hovered there, trying futilely to buck up into the touch.

“Cyclonus- oh plea-!” He was cut of by a pointed digit grazing and dipping into the slit on the head of his spike, at the same time as two more digits thrust fully into his valve, eased along by he copious amount of lubrication, where they instantly stuck a small cluster of nodes in the front wall. His overload exploded through him, his mouth open in a silent cry as he spasmed, valve clenching tightly on the two invading digits while his spike jerked out a stream of transfluid to coat his abdomen. Cyclonus didn’t pause while he shook, instead thrusting both servos in time to extend the overload, until it was all he could do to tremble and mewl at the continuing sensations.

Slowly, Cyclonus came to a stop and carefully withdrew his servos, moving one to massage at his thigh again, while the other disappeared to who knew where. He tugged weakly at his bonds, though wasn't surprised when Cyclonus huffed a short laugh.

“I’m not done with you yet.” The one servo touching him skittered down to play with his knee, and then his ankle joints, claws dipping to brush rarely touched wires and protoform, Tailgate gasping and moaning weakly at the sensations which were only heightened by his blindness. As he was concentrating on the pleasurable signals coming from his pede, he was caught unaware when the cool tip of a false-spike nudged at his valve rim, circling to spread itself in the fluid coating his aft and thighs. It was all Tailgate could do to lowly moan when it was slowly pushed in; his valve hadn’t been stretched as much as usual, though he trusted in Cyclonus’s judgement, and he couldn’t argue that the slow, burning stretch felt wonderful.

It pressed against the ceiling nodes, and Tailgate was prepared for Cyclonus’s to pause, let him get used to the new, larger stretch, but instead it just kept pushing, forcing itself in fraction by fraction, until the post-overload haze vanished and Tailgate was clutching at the ropes again, mouth open and twitching once more in pleasure at the blissful feeling of being completely stuffed full.

“I-oh primus! Cyclonus th-that feels-oh primus!”

“My spike modification, as you know, is larger than this toy still.” And oh primus did he know, it was all he could think about while on duty after all. “Despite our extensive work to stretch you, it is still likely that it may hurt the first time.”

“I-I don’t care! It feels so _good_ oh!” And it really did; after pushing relentlessly at his ceiling node, Cyclonus withdrew it with a quick flick of his wrist, before sinking it back in again in a smooth movement. The pressure against all the nodes lining his valve felt unbelievable, and imagining that same feeling, with the ridges and textures that made up Cyclonus’s spike, brought his charge up even more.

The servo that had been absently tweaking along his pede rose up to instead brush along his rapidly re-pressurising spike, light scraping touches teasing it back into full hardness again. Before too long, Tailgate was crying out unabashedly, driving his hips up to meet the thrust of the toy, whimpering each time it fully struck home, the line between pleasure and pain blurring ever more. He could feel himself approaching overload again, and whined in frustration when he realised that despite the fullness of his valve, it wasn’t enough.

“Cy-Cyclonus I need-Please more!” He whined, his need coming through in his voice. “Please I want more! Oh primus _Cyclonus_!” The rhythm of the toy faltered slightly, and then slowed down until it was at an agonising pace, causing the minibot to whine wordlessly even more.

“I think I can give you more, since you asked so nicely.” Tailgate was too far gone to really take notice of the teasing tone to Cyclonus’s voice, only really interested in that it was a ‘yes’.

He spread his thighs as wide as possible in anticipation, his stuffed valve fully on display for Cyclonus, which he appreciated too judging by the rumbling rev of his engines. When one servo rested on his hip, he stilled completely, eager for whatever the larger mech was about to give him, and gasped lightly when the toy was pulled mostly out, another smaller one moving to nudge at the rim beside it.

“Relax.” Was the only advice he was given before the smaller toy pushed and slipped in next to the other, a garbled yelp of static all Tailgate could utter as both of them then moved slowly in until they were fully inserted, at which point Cyclonus paused. The larger mech was saying something, Tailgate knew that much, but all he could focus on was the burning stretch of his rim, and the complete, full pressure in his valve as it was stretched to its limits, every single node alight and fritzing with charge.

“-s it hurt? Tailgate?” Oh, yes. Cyclonus was talking to him. He had to reboot his vocaliser a couple of times before he could talk without static.

“Feels-oh primus it feels so good! It hurts but it doesn’t and it’s amazing and oh-oh Cyclonus!” He twitched his hips slightly, moaning as the toys slipped a little. ‘Oh-h please! Please move them! Frag me please!” Tailgate was dimly aware of an answering rev of engines, before the toys were gradually pulled out, the minibot only able to produce more garbled static when Cyclonus pushed them back in, the unhurried pace allowing Tailgate to savour every inch of the toys as they spread his valve. He knew he must have been making an idiot of himself, crying out and twitching and begging so eagerly, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, and Cyclonus said he liked it so he wasn’t going to argue.

He was close again. If the building pleasure-ache didn’t show it, then the tiny pinpricks of electrical charge flickering over his array was a sure sign, and Cyclonus seemed to notice as well, slowing his pace down again to drag it out once more. Tailgate was about to shout at him, unwilling to be teased again when he was so desperate, but with a strong stroke the toys were seated fully, his valve spasming in pre-overload as he arched and cried out wordlessly. Without pausing, the servo flickering over his spike moved to grab it, and Tailgate could only gasp when he felt the hot, hard length of Cyclonus’s own spike being squeezed next to his, Cyclonus’s servo grasping and tugging at the both of them.

“C-Cylonus I-“ He was just on the cusp of overload, when a sharp nip to his neck cables took him crashing over, wailing and shaking as Cyclonus kept moving his servo, using his knee to keep the toys seated deep within him. Having nothing to ground him, Tailgate desperately clutched at the ropes holding him while his legs scrabbled to try and grab at Cyclonus, slipping as he writhed and bucked beneath the larger mech, his processor whiting out at the intensity of it all.

As he was coming back to himself, Tailgate belatedly realised that at some point during the moments he was offline, Cyclonus had moved to straddle his upper chest. He was about to question it, but the moment he opened his mouth a little, the blunt end of hot spike pushed against it, spreading dribbles of transfluid and his own oral lubricant around his lips. He automatically opened his mouth wider, glossa poking out to try and lick at the spike so tantalisingly close, and after a few teasing licks Cyclonus shifted to push his spike deeper; Tailgate was only able to manage a fraction of the spike, jaw spread wide to get as much in as possible, though he gagged and whined when the tip poked at his intake tube. Regardless of the minor discomfort, he eagerly traced and laved at the ridges and delicate seams while he worked to suck and move over the length as best he could.

Above him, Cyclonus was grunting, a servo moving to grasp at Tailgate’s helm and the minibot could feel the effort the larger mech was going through to restrain himself and not simply grind into his mouth. Deciding that he wanted to feel Cyclonus lose control, Tailgate drew off the spike as best he could, mouth relaxing as he started a slow, easy pace over the length he could strain to reach, giving teasing little licks to the head to try and encourage Cyclonus into reacting.

With a strangled grunt, Cyclonus took the invitation, thrusting forward to slam against Tailgate’s intake tube, pushing past the entrance slightly and making the smaller mech moan and gag; it hurt a little, especially as the erratic flexing of his intake seemed to spur Cyclonus on, though Tailgate was more than happy to put up with a little discomfort if it pleased the other mech.

After several hard thrusts, Cyclonus finally overloaded with a hoarse shout, claws denting Tailgate’s helm as hot fluid shot straight down his intake, and when the spike withdrew a bit Tailgate moaned as he felt it fill his mouth, pouring out to dribble down his chin and neck cables. They lay like that for a while, Cyclonus venting harshly above him while his slowly depressurising spike simply rested on Tailgate’s cheek, and when the minibot made a show of swallowing the mouthful of transfluid, he smiled lightly at the lazy rev it received.

Without moving from his place on Tailgate’s chest, Cyclonus pulled off the blindfold, reaching up to undo the rope while Tailgate brought his optics back online. His arms felt stiff as he brought them down to rest his servos on Cyclonus’s thighs, though after a few moments of simply looking at each other, Cyclonus shifted to climb off, at which point Tailgate was immediately aware of the toys still lodged deep within his valve, as well as the great discomfort of them now that his charge had abated.

He managed to hide his wince when he reached down to pull them out, Cyclonus thankfully too busy settling himself back down to notice, and Tailgate merely left them on the bottom of the berth to clean later, content for now to roll over and cuddle up to the larger mech. He was enjoying the comfortable silence, happy to relax and perhaps fall into recharge, and so was surprised when Cyclonus shifted, moving to wipe up the drying transfluid from his face.

“Mmm, thanks.” He snuggled back, happy to ignore the rest of the mess on his frame, though apparently Cyclonus had other ideas, as he started to wipe and clean his neck and abdomen, moving down with deceptively gentle touches to clean his array. Even after he was clean, the light touches continued, until Tailgate felt so relaxed that he could slip straight into recharge regardless of how exhausted he was.

“Never doubt that I am displeased with you.” The low rumble of Cyclonus’s voice worked into the sleepy haze of Tailgate’s mind. “Whilst I am not sure what to call this… Relationship, I am perfectly content, despite our differences.” He clutched Tailgate slightly closer, seemingly in an unusually ‘cuddly’ mood, not that Tailgate was complaining.

“Thank you.” His sleepy voice was barely more than a whisper. “Cyclonus…” And as recharge protocols initiated, the haze of darkness settling over him, Tailgate smiled to himself, blissfully happy in the other’s embrace.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL.
> 
> It's only been what, nine freaking months?
> 
> I never used to understand it when fic authors wouldn't update for years, because they said they were too busy but god I understand now, good freaking god do I understand.
> 
> Essentially, I've been crazy busy sewing more or less 24/7 for the last nine months, with barely any time for myself, let alone to write, so I'm super sorry it's taken so long to get this out D:
> 
> I'm also super sorry, because I really don't think this chapter is one of my best, but I'm at a loss of how to improve it, so here it is.
> 
> One more chapter after this, and then perhaps an epilogue depending on how well I can finish it off. Whilst I'd love to say that I could have it out within the month, that'd be a lie because I'm still ridiculously busy, but I wanted to get this chapter off my mind before I started work on the last one.
> 
> ON ANOTHER NOTE, I've been through and edited the entire fic- literally nothing has changed story wise, but I fixed a million typos and some dodgy syntax, so if you end up reading it again, hopefully it's a bit better~
> 
> Also, I've changed [Cyclonus'] to [Cyclonus's], after I was prompted by a comment months back. As far as I can tell, and as far as I've been taught in uni, both are correct, it's just a matter of preference. Whilst I actually prefer [Cyclonus'], I think I've been staring at it too long so it no longer looks right, so I changed it. And maybe that makes it more readable for everyone else I dunno. (I'd actually be interested in hearing opinions on this? Most people I know in England omit the second S, but I found no evidence to it being an American English vs British English thing, so maybe myself and friends have all just had super old fashioned teachers?)
> 
> Anyway, fic. I hope it's not as terrible for you as it was for me.

Onlining the next morning felt absolutely wonderful. Everything ached and he was sticky in places he never even knew about, but Cyclonus was still holding him tightly as he continued to recharge. Even if the grip was a little unrelenting Tailgate couldn’t even think to complain, too happy floating in a sleepy bliss. His chronometer indicated that it was a little late, but neither of them had any shifts to go to, so instead he just hummed happily to himself, and wriggled a little closer to the frame in front of him.

Which was apparently a terrible idea, judging by the sharp pain shooting through his valve at the slight movement. Not that he had much time to worry, because with his slight movement Cyclonus brought himself online, and hugged the minibot mech even closer. He couldn’t hide the wince, but thankfully Cyclonus was still too out of it to notice, and he managed to bring his expression back to a sleepy smile before the other actually onlined his optics to look down at him.

“Um, good morning!” His spark flipped in his chest when Cyclonus shuttered his optics again, and snuggled, actually _snuggled_ to rest his chin on Tailgate’s helm. He didn’t say anything, just hummed contentedly and absently stroked along the minibot’s back.

He was still asleep. Tailgate had to be because otherwise there was something wrong, and he’d woken up in some sort of alternative dimension, where Cyclonus was almost happy and was fragging cuddling for pits’ sake. Or maybe he’d died whilst offline and this was the well, or perhaps-

“We need to clean off.” Cyclonus mumbled into Tailgate’s helm. “How do you feel?”

“Fine, totally fine well... I kind of ache a bit, and I’m sticky and I could definitely use a cube.” The best lies were based in truth after all. “Uh, you?” Because if one of them wasn’t acting quite right, it sure as pit wasn’t Tailgate.

He received another mumbled response, and then Cyclonus was moving to sit up, pulling Tailgate with him and frag but the pain in his valve was there again, though at least his startled squeak could be attributed to being pulled up so suddenly. This wasn’t... Cyclonus just _couldn’t_ find out he was hurt, otherwise he’d decide to ‘prepare’ him more, not that he didn’t love that but primus he just wanted Cyclonus to take him properly and oh no what if he just gave up on him? It shouldn’t take  weeks of work just to interface, even Tailgate knew that and he was a complete beginner. 

As they left the room, Tailgate managed to stop fretting and Cyclonus seemed to return to himself a bit more, much to Tailgate’s relief, and was glaring more as his sleepiness wore off. Tailgate for his part managed to hide his discomfort with mindless chatter as they made their way to the washrack, taking advantage of the way Cyclonus would just ignore him when he babbled on for too long, though judging by the knowing smirk on the larger mech’s lips, the minibot’s limp wasn’t so well hidden. Well, he had a reason to be smug at least, and even if Tailgate was hurting right now, last night had been amazing. And the nights before that. And the occasional mornings.

Yeah he wouldn’t change a thing.

~~~~~

The washrack had been thankfully empty when they arrived, and they’d both helped each other clean off swiftly, with minimal lingering touches. While Cyclonus had been turned away, Tailgate had managed to clean off his interface array, wiping away the evidence of their evening and, more alarmingly, wiping off a few smears of dried energon from his valve rim. It had stung, and the minibot had nearly squeaked out in pain, but he’d held it in, hidden the cloth, and Cyclonus had been none the wiser.

Bizarrely, his roomate/lover had kissed him on the helm before he left to go do his morning exercises, and when Tailgate had managed to get over the shock, he realised it would be the perfect opportunity to hurry to medbay and get his problem checked out.

And so, there he was sat in a curtained off part of the medbay, legs spread wide as Ambulon poked cold digits and weird tools inside him. He strained to think of literally anything else other than the odd feeling of not-Cyclonus’s-digits testing every section of his valve wall, and by the time the medic pulled his servos away, Tailgate had convinced his mind to try and list every mech on the ship by name. He’d gotten up to Fizzle, when his list was interrupted by Ambulon giving him the verdict.

“Your rim’s a bit bruised, and there’s a small tear a little way in, but it’ll heal up in no time.” He didn’t look impressed at Tailgate’s still worried look. “I’ll give you some cream, to clean it all out and help it heal quicker, but it’s really nothing to worry about. Just go slower next time.” He left for a moment, and came back with a small tub and handed it to Tailgate, who promptly stuffed it in his subspace.

“Will I be able to, you know... Tonight?”

The look Ambulon gave him seemed to be equal parts exasperation and jealousy.

“See how it feels once your self-repair’s had a chance to work, but if you do just... Don’t get carried away.” Tailgate wasn’t even a master at reading body language, but even he could tell the brief conversation had ended. He nodded his understanding and jumped from the berth, leaving as fast as he could with the ache still affecting his movement.

~~~~~

In hindsight, it would have made more sense if Tailgate had asked Ambulon to apply the cream for him.

He was kneeling on his berth, his knees spread as wide as possible as he tried to force his stubby digits just a little deeper into his valve. His rim was fine, now fully coated in the cream he’d been trying for ages to get just a little further inside, but the sharp twinges of pain were getting annoying, as was the ever so slight trickle of arousal.

He was about to give up with his fingers, and try to find something else to apply it with, when the worst possible situation happened, and the door opened. He froze in shock, which unfortunately meant he froze up with his digits still inside him, and that _really_ wasn’t making the situation any better.

Cyclonus stood and stared, the door clicking shut behind him, and Tailgate knew he was fragged despite the amused smirk gracing his roommate’s features.

“Don’t stop on my account.” He all but purred, though the teasing look stopped dramatically as Cyclonus noticed the tub, and worked out exactly what the minibot was smearing himself with. Two long strides, and Cyclonus was at the berth, picking up and checking over the tub before settling a piercing look at Tailgate, who’d suddenly found himself able to move again as he tried to shuffle back and cover himself.

“It’s not that bad, really! I-”

“How long has it been hurting you?” Primus, Tailgate had never seen Cyclonus look so angry with him before, but whilst he was initially cowed, he felt a bubble of indignation rising up as the shock wore off. “By Primus Tailgate, tell me or-”

No. No way. He wasn’t putting up with this today, not this time.

“Or what?! You’ll hit me again? Or just walk out?” He didn’t know where the words or sudden fury had come from, but he couldn’t seem to shut up, weeks of ignored frustration apparently decided now was the best time to come out. “I mean, you can’t- I’m not- _Stop deciding things for me_! I can do it myself! I’m not an idiot!” By this point Cyclonus looked strangely taken aback, and Tailgate had pushed himself up to kneel on the bed.

“Tailgate...” The minibot visibly slumped when Cyclonus tried to intervene.

“I’m not... I’m not as naive as everyone thinks I am.” The anger which had been quick to rise, was also quick to disappear and the minibot slumped back down, head lowered as he spoke quietly. “And sometimes you can be kinda... Just too much? Overprotective? And I just...” He didn’t move when Cyclonus stiffly sat down beside him, and merely glanced at the large servo when the other mech hesitantly placed it on his shoulder.

“It’s not that I think you incapable of looking after yourself.” He paused when Tailgate snorted a disbelieving huff. “It’s true, you are worth far more than you give yourself credit for. But your wellbeing, particularly in regards to interfacing, it’s... I’m far stronger, and more experienced, therefore it’s my responsibility to restrain myself and ensure that I don’t damage you.” Tailgate had never though Cyclonus was capable of being reassuring, nor so calm, but he was clearly giving it a go. And doing quite well if the minibot was honest with himself.

“You didn’t really damage me much, and it was only this morning anyway.” He mumbled, and shifted slightly closer to Cyclonus. “Ambulon checked it out. He said with the cream I’d be good to go again by tonight.”

He risked looking up, but the _look_ Cyclonus shot him made him instantly duck his helm back down.

“We’re _not_ putting strain on it until it’s fully healed, and that’s that Tailgate. No amount of hurt is worth it.” Cyclonus’s tone spoke of finality, as did the slightly harder grip on his shoulder, but Tailgate wasn’t backing down just yet.

“It is though! It’s just, it didn’t hurt last night, and it’s not that bad today, and... And if it means I can be close with you, then...” He trailed off, embarrassed by what he’d let slip already. _Please frag me Cyclonus, it’s the only way I know you still like me_. They’d already discussed a little of his unfathomably long list of insecurities last night, though clearly there was work to be done, and Tailgate made a note to himself to actually go and see Rung about those ‘self-confidence boosting lessons’ he’d mentioned to him a while back.

Back in the present however, and Cyclonus, was silent next to him, watching the minibot intently before he finally spoke.

“Tailgate, you don’t understand the damage that can be done, the damage that I could do to you.” He shifted to rest his servo on Tailgate’s lower back, and seemed to deliberate on his words again for a moment. Eventually, the silence was broken with a soft snick, and it took Tailgate a moment to realise it was Cyclonus opening his array, though when he glanced down the spike cover was still in place, which must’ve meant...

Cyclonus awkwardly moved back to sit on the berth, parting his legs so that Tailgate could finally see the valve he’d never even thought was there.

“Cyclonus...” 

“I know first hand, just how much damage can be done, and the pain which goes with it. And I swore to myself that I’d never cause you experience it as well.”

Tailgate hesitantly moved to get a closer look, and already from where he was sat he could make out the jagged lines of old scarring running from his valve and around the rim. Without even noticing, he moved a digit forward to softly brush along a deeper scar, not even really realising he was touching it until Cyclonus hitched his vents above him, causing Tailgate to sharply pull his servo back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... Without asking I mean.” Cyclonus just hushed him.

“It doesn’t hurt, the sensors are long too damaged for me to feel much of anything anymore. It has simply been a very, _very_ long time since that plating was touched.”

At Cyclonus’s prompting, Tailgate moved his servo back to trace the scars again, and at the other’s nod of acceptance, he carefully followed one scar past the rim, to the inside. The walls were dry, and even with his short digit barely any way in, Tailgate could feel the damage that had been inflicted. He was also startled by how small the valve seemed, and though he only had his own to go on, he’d say it was more in proportion to himself, than the size mech Cyclonus was.

“Who? Or why?” He wasn’t sure what he’d do with the information, but he felt he needed someone to blame. Cyclonus just gave a wry twist of his mouth.

“Lord Galvatron had... _distinctive_ preferences.” And with the way Cyclonus actually looked uneasy, Tailgate knew that was the end of the conversation regarding _him_.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t... I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it all happened long ago.” As Tailgate drew his servo back, Cyclonus slid his cover back and motioned for the minibot to come to the head of the bed with him.

“Can you not get it fixed?”

“There are some religious reasons, but frankly until you came along I never had any reason to.” And Tailgate just squeaked at that, humbled beyond all reasoning as he was bundled into Cyclonus’s lap. “But, my story aside, let me finish applying that cream for you.”

With no fuss, Cyclonus found the tub, dipped his digits in and slipped them into his still open valve, and just like that the slight sting was soothed, array closed and the job done. Setting the tub to the side, Cyclonus then bundled Tailgate up into his arms, and shifted them both to lie down. 

“I didn’t realise how... Overbearing I was acting, I’ll try not to be in future.” Tailgate just grinned behind his mask at the attempted apology, and snuggled further into Cyclonus’s chest. 

“And I’ll try not to bottle stuff up anymore.” He offlined his optics. An afternoon nap definitely sounded nice after such an emotional morning.

~~~~~

They both dozed on and off for a while, and Tailgate was happy and warm in Cyclonus’s embrace, snuggling in whenever he blearily came to a little. In response Cyclonus would just squeeze him and nuzzle his helm a little before they both drifted off again. While they lazed about, Tailgate thought about everything from the cocktails Swerve had recently made, to the work he had to do tomorrow. Eventually, his thoughts found themselves drifting more towards interesting topics, such as the fun he’d had with Cyclonus the other night.

He lazily rubbed against the frame he was clutching to as he half-remembered, half-dreamt about rubbing himself to overload on Cyclonus’s thigh, and he was dimly aware of his rising charge and heating plating, though it felt distant through the haze of only being very slightly conscious.

Soft touches along back, whether in his dream or real life made him arch and press harder into the warm frame in front of him, though it was a light pinch to a wire in his hip that brought him back to the real world. Looking up, he found Cyclonus smirking down at him, but before he could comment the larger mech ducked down to press a light kiss to his forehelm, and then another one to his cheek, and a final one to where his lips were concealed beneath his mask. He realised he could quite easily get used to this sleepy, affectionate Cyclonus he was seeing more and more often.

The minibot reached to remove his mask and visor and toss them to the floor, and Cyclonus wasted no time at all in brushing more soft kisses over his lips, though he teasingly pulled back whenever Tailgate tried to deepen them.

Which Tailgate certainly wasn’t impressed with; he had a light charge going, and a lazy, sleepy interface sounded pretty good at the moment. In retaliation, he ran a pede along Cyclonus’s, drawing his leg up to hook as best he could over the other’s hip, and at the same time reached up to grab the remaining sensory horn, tugging Cyclonus into a proper kiss, one which involved glossa and moaning, rather than ticklish ghosts of a touch.

Before Tailgate could get a proper hold with his leg, Cyclonus tugged and rolled them both over, leaving the dazed minibot straddling a thick thigh. Claws were in his hips almost immediately, and it wasn’t long before he was rutting against the larger mech, blindly chasing his own pleasure with Cyclonus’s encouraging touches and guiding servos.

It was an accident, when Tailgate’s knee pressed harshly against Cyclonus’s valve cover, and both mechs stopped, confused when the cover clicked open.

“Did you mean to do that?” Tailgate was fairly certain earlier had been the first and last he’d ever see of it.

“No. It would appear old habits don’t die as quickly as they should.” He looked annoyed, but with himself. “Perhaps opening it earlier has reminded my frame of lessons taught long ago. I’ll speak to Ratchet about it.” Tailgate was certain he didn’t want to know what those ‘lessons’ might have been, though an ache shot through his spark at the thought of what the other must have endured.

He waited for Cyclonus to snap it shut again, but ended up shifting awkwardly when it was kept open.

“Do you want to stop?” He wasn’t too revved up that a cold shower wouldn’t sort him out, disappointing as that outcome would be.

Cyclonus however, merely looked contemplative, staring into Tailgate’s optics as he thought to himself about who knew what.

“No. No in fact...” He removed his claws from Tailgate’s hips, and brought one servo up to cup the small helm. “I haven’t submitted in this way for millennia, yet I find I wouldn’t mind doing so for you.”

Tailgate’s processor nearly froze up and glitched, and he had to reset his vocaliser a couple of time before he could get his next words out.

“A-are you sure? Because that doesn’t... look like it’d feel nice for you?”

“ _I_ am unlikely to feel anything, this is an offering for _you_.”

It was the most disturbing yet humbling thing and one had ever offered him, and Tailgate turned his helm to kiss Cyclonus’s palm, attempting to find the right words before he blundered the whole situation.

“T-thank you, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable... Knowing you’re not enjoying it.” He honestly couldn’t see him being that selfish, to enjoy using his lover’s frame while he lay back and bore through it. But clearly Cyclonus had other ideas, and sat up to bring their frame a little closer together, and to allow him to play with the minibot’s sensitive shoulder wheels.

“I might not feel anything physically, but it pleases me to see you in pleasure, and this is as much as I can offer for now.” He brushed along the back of Tailgate’s neck, and kissed him lightly on the helm again. “You’ve given me nearly everything of yourself, so let me return the debt.”

“You don’t- I’m not keeping count you know...” 

“Which makes you all the more worthy.”

The conversation was reaching weird places, but as far as Tailgate could tell, Cyclonus was definitely up for it, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t too. The toying touches to his wheels paused as he leant forward to kiss Cyclonus’s neck, before he pulled back to meet the other’s optics.

“You’ll tell me to stop if it hurts right? And how do you want to do it? And where’s that artificial lubricant, we’re gonna need lots of that aren’t we?” He tugged himself out of Cyclonus’s lap to reach to the bedside table where they kept the box of _things_ , grabbing a tube of lubricant before hopping back in his place.

“I’ll tell you, don’t worry. Just go slow to begin with.” The flyer lay back, shuffling until he was comfortable, before spreading his legs further, with Tailgate sat between them. The sight of Cyclonus laying there, waiting for him was more than enough to pop open Tailgate’s own array covers, though he managed to keep his spike recessed for the time being, adamant that he’d get Cyclonus good and prepared before he even let it out. Cyclonus had been so utterly careful with him so far, it was crucial and only right that he reciprocated in kind.

But primus, Cyclonus spread before him like that... If Tailgate looked even half as good as this, it was no wonder the larger mech’s engines would rev so much when he displayed himself.

He thought back to when Cyclonus first taught him about his array, moving forward a little until he was in easy reach of the temptation in front of him. A single digit moved to trace the outline of the scarred plating, and then he pulled it back, coating it in lubricant before pressing forward again, this time tracing the rim and dipping in to a single digit-joint. In front of him, Cyclonus watched intently, a gave a small hitch when he was penetrated, but other wise did nothing to suggest he was uncomfortable. Emboldened, and his own vents hitching in a strange sort of arousal, Tailgate pulled the digit out to reapply more lubricant, and then pushed it back in, slowly sinking it in as far as he could, the valve walls clamping down around him.

“Is this okay?” He kept the digit in, and used his thumb to stroke the outer plating while his other servo brushed comforting circles along a thigh.

“Yes. I imagine you could use two digits before you have to actually begin stretching.” Tailgate took the advice, pulling out and carefully adding more lubricant before he pushed two short digits in. Cyclonus hummed and nodded, and shifted his hips up a little into the touch.

“Do you think we should use one of the false spikes?” The smallest one was roughly the same size as himself, though longer, but Cyclonus knew more about this than he did, so he’d listen to any advice he could get.

“No, it shouldn’t be necessary, and I admit I’d rather just have you inside me.”

_Inside him_. Two words alone which caused Tailgate’s temperature to shoot up a handful of degrees.

“Okay just... let me know okay...” He couldn’t keep the next words in. “Primus you look so gorgeous, like you do anyway but now...  I dunno, it’s just something else.”

Cyclonus merely smirked at the words and Tailgate’s subsequent bashfulness, forgoing words to instead wrap a leg around Tailgate’s lower back and drag the minibot close enough that their arrays would be touching, if not for the small servo between them. It was enough of a hint for Tailgate to move his digits agin, withdrawing them a little before pushing them back in, and spreading them slightly. He could feel every detail of the many scars in the valve lining, and couldn’t stop himself from tracing a few of the larger ones, shocked that anyone would do such a thing, and amazed that Cyclonus was strong enough to have endured them.

Gradually, with the slow pumping and playing of his digits, he could feel Cyclonus loosen, and with yet more lubricant he added a third digit. It was as he pushed in again up to his knuckle, that Cyclonus made the first noise as a result of Tailgate’s ministrations; an odd sounding groan, and he pulled his legs up a little higher, framing the minibot with his thighs and allowing him to push just that little bit closer.

“This is okay right?” At Cyclonus’s nod, Tailgate crooked his digits a little harder, pleased when the larger mech’s engines revved a little more. “How much can you feel?”

“Very little, but what small amount of sensation I do feel is pleasant enough.” He tensed however, when Tailgate brushed an offering servo over the purple spike housing. “No. I think it’s best for now to keep the sensations focussed on my valve. I want this to be for you.”

“Well, I do like your spike a _lot_.” The minibot grinned, but obligingly moved to instead play with the seams along the other’s abdomen. “I’m not a good judge at this, how much more do you think?” He could slide three digits in easily by now, but wanted to make certain it was enough.

“By now it should be fine, go ahead.” Which wasn’t the sexiest thing Tailgate had ever heard, but he supposed it was about right for the situation.

He was hesitant as he removed his digits, though his spike had no such problems and sprung out without his explicit instruction. However, despite the arousal coiling in his spark, he still wasn’t entirely convinced he could just _take_ from Cyclonus like this, and he was sure there had to be some way to give something back. And then he realised it.

“Cyclonus?” He rubbed the thighs framing his body, making sure to meet the other’s optics. “Do you want, I mean could we link up?” The questioning look pushed him to explain further. “You know, with hardline cables, like we all used to.” When spark play was too intimate, cables had been the next best thing, and Tailgate found himself hoping Cyclonus would agree, as it had been literally millennia since he’d last been able to link up with someone.

Unfortunately, Cyclonus looked hesitant.

“Tailgate...”

“I-sorry, we don’t have to, I just thought you’d be able to get something more from this uh... Thing...”

“No, I just... It’s been a long time, a very long time. Purely physical stimulation is a lot less intimate. It hasn’t been very popular in the last few millennia.”

Well that was... Something to question later perhaps.

“So that’s a... yes?” He let his hope bleed through into his voice, and was rewarded with Cyclonus initiating the transformation sequence to reveal his cable and port array hidden just under the area where his spark lay. It looked neat and clean, and of much better quality than Tailgate’s own, but he didn’t let his inadequacies stop him from reaching forward to take the offered cable, hastily dragging his own out and passing it over. With a heated look between them, they plugged in at roughly the same time, and Tailgate was instantly overwhelmed by the sheer _presence_ of Cyclonus. Strong, and unyielding, but rather than feeling threatened, Tailgate took comfort in it, and in the support the other was offering.

He couldn’t think of anything in particular he wanted to send to his roommate, so he instead just let his defences down, and invited Cyclonus to take what he wanted, offering as much trust and acceptance as he could. The slight awe he received had him smiling, but the slow throb of pleasure being sent his way had him gasping and clutching to the mech in front of him, trembling at the intensity he’d never felt before.

Oh but they had to do this again, perhaps without any of the new sexual mods at all, just the two of them and their feelings, because this was actually bliss.

He could feel Cyclonus’s amusement at that thought, which brought him to the present enough to remember that he was actually supposed to be doing other things as well.

Right. Spike. Into Cyclonus’s valve. It couldn’t be too difficult.

He used a servo to guide his spike, ignoring for the moment Cyclonus’s subtle teasing at how he was concentrating so hard. The tip of the head touched, and frag but it was good already, and he clearly broadcasted that across the link, judging by the way Cyclonus’s vent hitched and his legs tensed. Another soft push and the head was in, and it was hot and tight and he wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to go any further, because it felt like he’d overload from this alone.

“C-Cyclonus this is oh f-frag!”

“Keep-nng! Keep going!” He did, and pushed in all the way to the hilt, allowing the sensations to wash over the link, trying not to overload as Cyclonus’s pleasure was fed back to him. Tailgate wasn’t able to go in particularly deep, but Cyclonus was tight and clenching around him, the hot, wet heat unlike anything he’d ever felt, and he managed to withdraw and push in slowly twice more before he had to stop, overload threatening to consume him. Before he lost himself too completely, he managed to reach up and grab Cyclonus by the base of his horn, and tug him down to kiss sloppily, a large servo coming to grab tightly against his back as they each transmitted the sensations to each other. By Cyclonus’s standards, the kiss was perfect, and he enjoyed the eagerness the smaller mech had always shown, which was apparently far more enjoyable than whatever he’d experienced before.

Pulling back, Tailgate managed to collect himself enough to withdraw his spike again, and he held onto the frame below him and thrust his hips deeply a handful of times. The dual feelings washing over him pushed him right to the edge, and it was with a final clench from Cyclonus that he toppled over into overload, pushing all the sensation across the cable to bring Cyclonus over with him, tiny sparks of released charge flickering between them and dancing along their frames. Together, they trembled and moaned with the shared sensations, holding onto each other until the bliss ebbed away enough to relax and slump tiredly on the berth.

Tailgate was happy to lie across Cyclonus’s broad chest, relaxing into the calm, sated feelings coming from his berthmate, and he barely noticed when his spike depressurised and slipped out, only twitching a little at the trickle of released fluids hitting his plating.

He would have been content to lie there, basking in the warm glow and feelings, until he felt his systems pinging him to refuel.

“Eurgh, I need to get energon.” He huffed and flopped over onto his back, pouting at the ceiling. “I need to work on my stamina too. I barely lasted any time at all, especially compared to you. That is, if you want to do this again?” He was kind of hopeful, yet still aware that it probably wasn’t Cyclonus’s favourite thing to do in the berth.

“I’d enjoy it, though I do wish to speak with Ratchet first.” With a displeased vent Cyclonus got up, hauling the minibot up after him. “Come. We’ll clean off, then get energon.”

Tailgate replaced his masks as they headed out again.

“Swerve’s got some sort of new board game too, d’you want to play or just watch from a dark corner?”

He grinned when Cyclonus just shoved him out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA.
> 
> YEAH.
> 
> Tailgate gets to dip his wick before Cyclonus why did I even think that up I have no idea but whatever it's done and written and I refuse to take it back.
> 
> Next chapter is the one I think everyone actually wants, so I promise to try and make it good.
> 
> My New Years Resolution is 'stop turning perfectly good one shots into plotless multi chaptered nonsense'


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